


Earth Monitoring Station

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 100
Words: 54,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles originally posted to tumblr.  Some are probably smutty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ashamed

There was a timpani drum pounding in Clarke’s head. **  
**

_Thump. Thump.  Thump._

Opening her eyes felt like an Olympic sport and she moaned when she tried to lift her head up, because the timpani got louder and the sand filling her skull shifted, making her temples throb.

 _What the fuck did we drink last night?_  She only had vague memories–impressions, mostly.  She remembered joining Raven at the bar to celebrate her new job, and she remembered her first long island iced tea.  She remembered Bellamy showing up when she was halfway through her second long island and then the night went from a narrative to a slideshow.  Leaving the bar.  Dancing at a club.  Karaoke?  She’d gotten a piggy back ride at some point, too.  And then coming home and puking while someone held her hair back.

Wait–someone came home with her?

Stifling her yelps of pain at the movement Clarke rolled over, but her bed was empty.  She pushed herself up–oh god, she was going to puke–but the only clothes scattered across her floor were her own.  Breathing heavily through her nose she stood up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.   _It was probably Raven or Monty_ , she reasoned.  Clarke stumbled from her room to the living room, where she found her mystery guest.

Bellamy Blake, passed out on her couch with a garbage can next to him.

 _Bellamy held my hair back while I puked?_  That didn’t seem like him.  Or maybe it did, now that she thought about it.  For all his snarling and growling, Raven liked to tease him about being a mother hen.  Bellamy was usually the one yelling at Jasper to remember his jacket when they left the bar, and more than once he’d dragged everyone to a 24 hour diner to sober up.

It was more Bellamy taking care of her that didn’t square.  They weren’t enemies, but they also weren’t friends.  They just sort of co-existed in the same group of friends and traded off taking care of everyone else.  In fact, some times she felt like he was avoiding her and she had no idea what she’d done.  But now he was passed out on her couch, possibly with a bucket of his own vomit next to him.  She edged toward him and risked a peek at the garbage can, but it was empty.   _Just a precaution, then._

Her stomach roiled as she made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a giant glass of water.  She took turns sipping it and resting her head flat on the kitchen table, because remaining upright just seemed too hard.  Footsteps sounded behind her but she didn’t bother to look up as Bellamy picked up her water and finished it.  “The fuck did we do last night?” he asked, his voice rough.

Clarke snapped her head up, which nearly shattered her skull.  “Wait–did–did we–?”

“I don’t think so,” Bellamy said with a shake of his head that turned into a grimace.  “I definitely remember passing out on the couch after we puked for a while in the bathroom.”  He refilled her glass and got one for himself.  “By the way, I never really took you for a Dolly Parton fan.”

“What?” Clarke furrowed her brow and chugged down some more water, even as her stomach threatened a full-scale revolt.

“You and Raven.  You guys sang Jolene last night.  It was…interesting.”

“Oh  _god_.”  Clarke hid her face in her hands, absolutely mortified.  “We did, didn’t we?”

“Yup.  But that’s sort of where the night stops for me.   Any idea why I ended up here?”

“Phone.”

Bellamy collapsed into a chair next to her.  “What?”

“Your phone.  My phone.  They might have evidence.”

He shuffled back to the couch and stopped to dig through her purse which was lying on the ground near the door to grab her phone.  Clarke swiped hers open to find she had five messages waiting.

 

_Raven Reyes_

_1:17am_

_There’s no fucking way you two are going to remember this so: Bellamy coming back to your place was your idea.  “This way no one else has to babysit us,” you said.  You only have yourself to blame._

_Octavia Blake_

_1:21am_

_Bellamy always refuses to eat when he’s hungover but you have to at least make him eat toast._

_Raven Reyes_

_1:22am_

_Also please text some of us tomorrow so we know you’re both still alive._

_Octavia Blake_

_10:32am_

_Bellamy’s not texting back.  U dead?_

_Raven Reyes_

_10:37am_

_Oh my god will one of you please text Octavia back before I murder her._

 

Bellamy was tapping away at his phone.  “Texting Octavia?” Clarke asked.  At his nod she called up her own keyboard.  “I’ll tell Raven we’re alive.  But apparently this was our idea.  Coming back here, I mean.”

“Raven sent me that too and it rings a bell.  Did I give you a piggyback ride last night?”

“That was you?”

“Apparently.”  He turned his phone around to show an absolutely horrid selfie.  Bellamy’s excited smile took up two-thirds of the screen, with Clarke’s face half cropped out.  But she was clearly on his back, smiling over his shoulder.  They both looked sweaty and gross, but…happy.

“Octavia says I have to make you eat toast,” Clarke said as she started flipping through her own photos.  There were a lot of her and Bellamy, plus one very blurry shot of her and Raven onstage serenading each other.  She had a vague memory of the topic of Finn coming up, a shot or two in solidarity, and then…yeah, they definitely sang Jolene.  Which actually isn’t applicable to either of their situations with Finn anymore, but whatever.  Drunk logic.

“Octavia can mind her own fucking business,” Bellamy replied, his normally warm and golden skin now ashen and grey.

“You gonna puke?”

Bellamy shook his head and got them both refills on their water.  Clarke kept scanning through her photos, pondering this turn of events.  While singing Jolene with the woman you met because her boyfriend made you the other woman was, in the abstract, rather embarrassing, other than that Clarke didn’t really feel ashamed.  The pictures of her and Bellamy were a little off-center, but there was joy radiating through them.  She wished she remembered the rest of the night because really, it looked like they’d had fun.

“I can get going,” Bellamy offered when they finished their water.

Clarke shrugged.  “Or you can stay I and I can make you toast.”


	2. Ashamed Part II: Bellamy's Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts Bellamy got after he left the gang with Clarke.

\--29 text messages--

 

Raven Reyes

1:18am

Going to Clarke’s place was her idea.  No getting all emo about this shit tomorrow.

 

Raven Reyes

1:19am

But maybe don’t try to have sex because honestly I don’t think your dick is going to work tonight and you’re both super drunk.

 

Octavia Blake

1:20am

Eat some toast tomorrow morning and text when u get up so I know ur not dead

 

Jasper Jordan

1:20am

HOLLY SHITH ITS HAPPPPOENING

 

Jasper Jordan

1:20am

WRAO IT UP BROOOOOO

 

Monty Green

1:21am

Do not listen to Jasper and do not have sex with Clarke you are both crazy drunk.

 

Kyle Wick

1:27am

Please please please tell me if you finally confessed your love to Griffin tonight because I want to commemorate the occasion.

 

Kyle Wick

1:28am

On second thought you probably won’t even remember if you do so maybe tonight is not the night.

 

Kyle Wick

1:28am

By the way I have never seen either of you that drunk.  It’s terrifying.

 

Octavia Blake

10:11am

U alive?

 

Octavia Blake

10:13am

Bro

 

Octavia Blake

10:13am

U gotta tell me if ur dead

 

Nathan Miller

10:17am

Just a heads up you may have told Clarke Griffin you’re in love with her last night.  I didn’t hear you say it, but that was the general direction of things.  And you’re in her apartment, in case you didn’t know.

 

Jasper Jordan

10:21am

Wait did you hook up with Clarke last night or am I imagining things?

 

Octavia Blake

10:22am

Seriously bro u alive

 

Jasper Jordan

10:22am

MONTY SAYS YOU WENT HOME WITH HER HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

 

Octavia Blake

10:24am

NOW I AM WORRIED

 

Octavia Blake

10:27am

TEXT ME BACK WHEN YOU GET THIS

 

Kyle Wick

10:28am

Please text your sister back or else Raven is going to kill her.  

 

Octavia Blake

10:30am

R U DEAD

 

Raven Reyes

10:31am

For fuck’s sake text your goddamn sister back.  She’s ruining brunch.

 

Raven Reyes

10:31am

Yes we all went to brunch without you but there’s no fucking way either of you is functional today and also we thought you guys might want to TALK about WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON BETWEEN YOU TWO LAST NIGHT.

 

Raven Reyes

10:31am

There was so much flirting I wanted to DIE.

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

YOUR

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

SISTER

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

IS

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

RUINING

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

BRUNCH

 

Raven Reyes

10:32am

Just fucking text her back.  And then talk to Clarke about your goddamn feelings okay?

  



	3. Ashamed III: The First Date

_Clarke’s Phone:_

 

Raven Reyes

3:32pm

I know you’re busy doctoring or whatever but inquiring minds want to know: are you wearing the black dress that makes your tits like whoa or the red dress that makes your tits like whoa tonight?

 

Octavia Blake

3:45pm

I know I technically gave u my blessing to date my brother and its cool really just please take care of him

 

Octavia Blake

3:45pm

He’s sort of a secret softie and not alot of ppl know that

 

Octavia Blake

3:45pm

Now that I’ve made it weird have fun tonite

 

Raven Reyes

4:01pm

idk where you guys stand on sex on the first date but Blake has skillzzzzzz and I suggest you take him for a test drive

 

Raven Reyes

4:01pm

If you know what I mean

 

Raven Reyes

4:01pm

I’m telling you to have sex with him

 

Raven Reyes

4:01pm

just in case you didn’t get that

  
  


Raven Reyes

4:02

Also I may or may not have some money riding on the outcome of tonight so be a dear and let me know ASAP if you do decide to join the Sisterhood of Bellamy’s Dick

 

Monty Green

5:13pm

I’m going to apologize on Jasper’s behalf right now for any embarrassingly over-excited texts he sends tonight

 

Monty Green

5:13pm

And have fun on your date tonight :)

  
  
  


_Bellamy’s Phone:_

 

Jasper Jordan

8:14pm

ITS HAPPENING DUDE I AM SO EXCITED FOR YOU

 

Jasper Jordan

8:14pm

DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY

 

Jasper Jordan

8:14pm

CLARKE AND BELLAMY BELLAMY AND CLARKE ITS HAPPENING

 

Jasper Jordan

8:14pm

I AM GOING TO TAKE SO MANY SHOTS IN YOUR HONOR

 

Jasper Jordan

8:14pm

SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

 

Octavia Blake

8:15pm

We just took Jasper’s phone away from him and we’ll keep it hidden until tomorrow.  Have fun bro

 

Monty Green

8:15pm

Sorry about Jasper.  Won’t happen again

 

Raven Reyes

8:31pm

Sorry to interrupt but Clarke never got back to me and I need to know if she wore the red dress or the black one

 

Raven Reyes

8:31pm

for reasons

 

Raven Reyes

8:31pm

Financial reasons

 

Kyle Wick

9:04pm

I feel it is my duty to inform you that Reyes appears to be running an underground gambling ring entirely centered on the outcome of your date tonight.

 

Kyle Wick

9:04pm

I’ve never seen a group of people more unhealthily invested in their friends relationship.  It’s almost cute.

 

Kyle Wick

9:06pm

Raven just informed me that she’ll take me out to dinner with her winnings if we find out what color Clarke’s dress is.  You know how long I’ve been working for this so help a brother out and just text her back.

 

Kyle Wick

9:08pm

All she needs is a color.  Red or black.  Come on man.  One word.  One word and you can make all of my wildest Reyes dreams come true.

 

Kyle Wick

9:18pm

Really man?  After all the times I listened to you talk about Griffin and her hair and her smile?

 

Kyle Wick

9:18pm

YOU OWE ME BLAKE

 

Jasper Jordan

10:56pm

WE HAVEN’T HEARDF FROM YUOU AND OCTAVIIIA SAYS THATS GOODS

 

Monty Green

10:57pm

Sorry about that too.  But for the record your sister sucks at hiding things

 

Nathan Miller

12:28am

Is it safe for me to come home?  I don’t want to interrupt anything but I don’t know how much longer I can handle Jasper.

 

Nathan Miller

12:28am

I don’t care how much Monty loves him that kid is an annoying drunk.

 

Nathan Miller

12:36am

I assume by your non response it is safe for me to return.  I’ll make a lot of noise coming in just in case.

 

Raven Reyes

12:48am

Miller said your place was empty which means I just won $25.  Thank you for being so fucking predictable.

 

Kyle Wick

12:49am

GUESS WHO HAS A DATE WITH REYES?  THANKS MAN

  
  
  


_Clarke’s Phone:_

 

Raven Reyes

10:47am

So how was it?

 

Raven Reyes

10:47am

And by it I mean Bellamy’s dick.  It’s nice, right?

 

Raven Reyes

10:47am

PS thanks for not telling me the color of your dress. I could have won another $25 if you’d just fucking texted me back.

 

Raven Reyes

10:48am

So thanks for fucking nothing.

 

Raven Reyes

11:56am

Holy fuck Miller said Bellamy’s not back yet.  Is he seriously still at your place?  It’s been sixteen goddamn hours how are you two still fucking

 

Jasper Jordan

11:57am

BELLAMY IS STILL AT YOUR APARTMENT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

 

Octavia Blake

11:57am

Can u just have him text me back so I know he’s alive thnx

 

Monty Green

12:03pm

Jasper’s full of shit, right?  Bellamy’s not STILL at your place, RIGHT?  He’s like, out running errands or something and that’s why Miller says he’s not back.

 

Monty Green

12:04pm

Clarke I have like $30 riding on this please tell me he already left

 

Monty Green

12:42pm

CLARKE PLEASE HOW IS HE STILL THERE

 

Octavia Blake

12:49pm

Plz just tell him to text me kk

 

Monty Green

1:14pm

JFC YOU TWO

 

Raven Reyes

1:17pm

ARE YOU TWO GOING FOR A WORLD RECORD FOR FUCKING???

 

Raven Reyes

1:17pm

Okay so it hasn’t been that long but still I had no idea Blake had such stamina.

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

Miller said he’s leaving to go get groceries so please be a dear and TEXT ME WHEN BELLAMY LEAVES.

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

There’s a lot riding on this.

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

Money

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

Pride

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

A date with Wick

 

Raven Reyes

2:33pm

But mostly money

 

Raven Reyes

4:26pm

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME HE JUST GOT HOME NOW?

 

Raven Reyes

4:26pm

You realize you just broke Jasper, right?

 

Raven Reyes

4:26pm

Now that Miller has confirmed Papa Bear is safely returned to the nest you really need to text me back okay?  No excuses.

 

Raven Reyes

4:27pm

I think I accidentally agreed to two different dates with Wick and I need some advice.

 

Raven Reyes

4:27pm

UGH FEELINGS.

  
  



	4. Bellamy Blake: Outlaw (I)

Clarke adjusted her mask one last time and swept into the opera house.  Denver didn’t have many parties like this, given that it was little more than a mining town, full of rough men and rougher women.  She liked the challenge (and the thrill) that came with being a woman on  her own in such a dangerous place.  Besides, Denver needed doctors, female or no.

Most of proper society frowned upon Clarke coming to the masquerade unattended, but she didn’t understand why being unattached meant she had to miss out on the fun.  She circled the dance floor and took in the swirl of color—most days, the only color Clarke saw was the dull brown of dust and prairie grasses and the clear blue of the Colorado sky.  She loved this wild, untamed country, but sometimes she missed the rich, verdant hues of the East Coast.  Her dance card filled up quickly enough, but when it came time for the waltz, her partner was nowhere to be found.

A rough, callused hand dropped on her shoulder.  “Might I have this dance,” a low voice rumbled. 

Clarke pursed her lips and frowned.  “I believe I promised this dance to a, um…” she glanced at her dance card.  “A Mr. Jackson.  And I don’t believe you are him,” she said, because this man was a little more muscled than she remembered Mr. Jackson, and at any rate Mr. Jackson was wearing a blue mask, not a black one like the stranger.

The stranger smirked and did nothing to hide the way his eyes raked over her body.  Clarke  _should_  be upset at his brazenness, but she’d left all of her  _shoulds_  back in Philadelphia with her mother.  “Mr. Jackson won’t mind,” the stranger assured her, and Clarke found herself swept into the crush of people in his arms.

His dark eyes twinkled as he led her through the steps, making her far lighter on her feet than she’d ever believed herself to be.  She mentioned as much and he laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine.  “All it takes is the right partner, Miss Griffin,” he said.  It was odd, she realized—she’d never told him her name, but he seemed to know her, and Clarke thought she knew all the respectable men her age in Denver county.  Still, this stranger seemed almost familiar, as if she’d met him long ago and since forgotten.

The music ended and Clarke bit back a groan, because the next dance meant more time with Mr. Kane, a stern, disapproving distant cousin who spent most of his time reminding Clarke how disappointed she made her mother.  The stranger bowed over her hand and kissed her knuckles—just the merest brush of his lips, and yet she felt almost like fainting—and melted back into the crowd.

It took two more dances before Clarke realized where she’d seen that teasing grin before: in wanted posters in the post office.

Because those roguishly charming eyes belonged to one Bellamy Blake: Outlaw.


	5. Bellamy Blake: Outlaw (II)

Clarke walked home in the soft fall evening, enjoying the feel of a job well done.  Harper’s baby had come easily, and the joy on Harper’s face when she saw her little girl was part of the reason Clarke had gotten into medicine.   (That, and the rush she got when she realized she saved someone’s life).  She heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves behind her long before the rider pulled even with her, and even in the dim light of the moon she recognized those eyes.  She would have recognized them anywhere.

“You should be careful,” he said without preamble.  “It’s not safe around these parts at night.”

Clarke shrugged and kept up her pace.  “I like the solitude,” she said, reaching into her waistband.  “And I carry this in case I run into anyone unsavory.  I’ve even heard there are outlaws around,” she teased, pulling out her Colt .45.

He whistled softly.  “That’s a mighty big gun for a lady.”

Clarke smiled and shrugged again.  “I’m a good shot,” she said and he chuckled.  Bellamy stayed at her side all the way to her rough hewn cabin on the edge of town, then tipped his hat politely and led his horse away, into the dark plains.

After that, Bellamy found her almost every night as she walked home.  He never ventured far into the city, always waiting on the outskirts with his jet black horse, Murphy.  ( _He’s a mean sonofabitch, just as like to bite you as let you ride him_ , Bellamy said one night with a smothered smile).  He escorted her home, making pleasant conversation, as if he wasn’t the most wanted man in the entire state.  One night he noticed her limping (she’d twisted her ankle on a prairie dog hole on her way into town) and helped her up on Murphy in front of him.  Clarke should have been scandalized, but she was too entranced by the way he smelled like leather and dust and the warmth  of his chest against her back and his arms around her.

And that was how Clarke first became friends with Bellamy Blake: Outlaw.


	6. Bellamy Blake: Outlaw (III)

The first time Clarke patched Bellamy up, it was her idea.  He was wincing as he rode Murphy, and she insisted he come into her cabin so she could see to him properly. 

The second time, she didn’t have much of a choice—she woke to frantic pounding on her door and opened it to find Bellamy, grey and pale, bleeding copiously all over her porch.  “Got shot,” he said unnecessarily.  He clutched a rag soaked in blood to his shoulder and swayed a little.

She ushered him inside and set about dressing the wound, which required slicing off his shredded shirt to get at the wound on his shoulder.  Clarke steadfastly ignored the cut of his muscles on his chest as she pulled out her tools and disinfected the bullet hole.  He was lucky—it had gone straight through the muscle—so all she had to do was dress it.  She wrapped it tightly, making sure his shoulder and arm were immobile.  She could feel his breath tickling her neck as she worked quickly, and was just about to snap at him for crowding her when someone else pounded on the door.  “Stay quiet,” she hissed, and wiped her hands as clean as she could.

Keeping her body square in front of the door, she inched it open.  “Can I help you, Marshall?” she said as sweetly as possible.

Thelonius Jaha tipped his hat respectfully.  Clarke had never really warmed to him, but his son—Wells—had been the first person in Colorado to welcome Clarke, and she still mourned his untimely death from a fever.  “We’re looking for an outlaw, Miss Griffin,” (always miss with these men, never  _doctor_ , like she hadn’t gone to medical school same as any male doctor) “and we were thinking he may have come this way.  He’s armed, ma’am, and very dangerous.”

“An outlaw?  Good heavens,” Clarke said, drawing on her best upper crust manners.

Jaha cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “With all due respect, Miss Griffin—there’s a blood trail.  It leads straight here.  If he’s got you under some sort of duress, just nod slowly and step out of the house.  We can handle him.”

Clarke smiled brightly.  “That blood trail is mine.  Killed a rabbit for dinner,” she said, gratified when Jaha looked shocked.  “But I’ll be sure to let you know if I see any outlaws,” she said sweetly and shut the door firmly.

She rounded on Bellamy, who was grinning like a cat who got in the cream.  “Outlaws?  Good heavens!” he mimicked in a high pitched voice, somewhat derailed by his pale complexion and haggard voice.

Clarke frowned and pointed to the narrow bed in the corner.  “Sleep,” she said.  “Doctor’s orders.”

Bellamy saluted weakly and staggered to the bed where he sank down heavily.  Clarke fussed over the covers for him and he caught her hand in his good one.  “Thanks, doc,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  Unlike the one on the dance floor, this one was open mouthed and sloppy, but it still made Clarke’s breath catch in her throat.

That was how she came to care for Bellamy Blake (outlaw.)


	7. Bellamy Blake: Outlaw (IV)

Clarke was reviewing old textbooks when it happened.  One second she was reminding herself of the earliest symptoms of scarlet fever, and the next her door burst open and Bellamy stormed in.  Clarke barely had a second to take him in—dirty and grimy, but apparently unharmed—before he was catching her in his arms and kissing her like his life depended on it.

Clarke wasn’t sure that kissing Bellamy was a good idea (he was a wanted man, after all) but once they started she couldn’t stop.  She drank him in, even though he tasted like dust and smelled like gunpowder, because he was dangerous but he was also her lifeline.  Bellamy understood Clarke to her very core and didn’t expect her to change, anymore than she expected Bellamy to give up robbing wealthy stagecoach passengers and giving most of his ill-gotten gains to those who needed it more (he might deny it, but Clarke knew he was responsible for Monroe’s miraculous last minute ability to save her husband’s claim.)

Bellamy burned kisses down her throat and Clarke moaned, scrabbling at his shirt to bare his skin to her wandering hands.  They fell into her bed, still mostly clothed but far too desperate for each other to bother with disrobing completely, and when he pushed inside of her Clarke knew, in her bones, that she belonged to him the same way he belonged to her—completely, and forever.

They lay curled together after, Bellamy drawing idle patterns on Clarke’s back as she studied at the planes of his face in the gaslight, trying to commit the angles to memory so she could draw him later.  “Why now?” she asked as she dropped kisses along his jaw.

Bellamy shifted and drew her closer.  “Got into a firefight with the Marshal.” 

Clarke straightened her back and slapped at his chest.  “Bellamy!  Marshal Jaha  _is my friend_ ,” she hissed.  She might not love Thelonius, but her bond with Wells had run deep.

Bellamy laughed.  “I didn’t shoot him.  I mean, not directly.  Grazed him, maybe.  And he shot at me first,” he protested.  “Anyway, Doc, to answer your question—he was shooting and it occurred to me I might die, and all I could think of was you.”  He slid his hand up her spine and cradled the back of her head.  “So I came here, and the rest is history.”

She leaned forward for a long, slow kiss that had none of their earlier desperation, but no less passion.

Clarke was officially in love with Bellamy Blake: Outlaw.


	8. Bowling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With bonus Wicken!

Raven really should have seen this coming.

All she wanted was to go bowling and listen to AC/DC while drinking cheap beer and heckling her friends.  It was hardly an elaborate birthday request, but apparently she should have included “Bellamy and Clarke have to be on the same team” in her list of birthday wishes because  _good god_  they were insufferable.

They didn’t even know each other before tonight, but Clarke was competitive as hell and Bellamy was a sore loser, so really, it was her own damn fault for letting them be on different teams.  Currently, Clarke was standing with her nose to Bellamy’s chest, ranting about him breaking her concentration.  Raven leaned back in the molded plastic chairs and gulped down some watery beer.  “Get a move on,” she yelled because now Bellamy was shaking his finger in Clarke’s face and  _god damn why didn’t I see this coming?_

“No,” they snapped at her in unison and picked their argument back up seamlessly.

Wick leaned over and nudged Raven with his shoulder.  “They’re hitting it off,” he whispered.  Raven shifted uncomfortably, because she still wasn’t sure where she stood with him.  The sex was good and he was probably her closest friend after Clarke but…well.  She’d been burned before, and Raven wasn’t about to hold her hand to a candle a second time.

“Something like that,” she grumbled, more annoyed with the fact that her heart stuttered when he brushed against her than anything else.  Up at the ball return Monty intervened and sent Bellamy back toward Raven and Clarke stomped off toward the bar for a refill on their pitcher.  Wick gently tugged Raven’s ponytail as he stood up to take his turn and she struggled not to smile.

Bellamy took Wick’s seat.  “You never mentioned that she’s infuriating.”

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Sorry about that.  You want her number?”

Bellamy watched Clarke make her way back to them with a new pitcher.  “She’ll eat me alive, won’t she?”

“Most likely.  But if I remember correctly, that’s sort of your thing.”

Bellamy shoved her good naturedly and eyed Clarke again.  “Let me get it myself.”


	9. Astronomy (Bowling II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically in the Bowling universe, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this because honestly this is just an excuse for some smut. (Inspired by blakesdoitbetter‘s tags from her reblog of the bowling piece.)

Clarke kept her eyes open as the stars wavered above her.   _Cassiopeia_ , he’d whispered.   _The gods punished her for boasting about her beauty and now she wheels around the sky forever_.  Clarke felt like she was spinning, the wine she’d had earlier having gone straight to her head, and her blood boiled under her skin as Bellamy whispered kisses up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.  The moment his tongue found her clit she lost the battle and closed her eyes, blocking out the constellations he’d named for her while they sat on the roof of her apartment complex with a blanket and a bottle of wine.

She couldn’t believe she almost didn’t give him her number, now that his tongue was inside of her and making her toes curl, but in her defense–he was pretty damn annoying when they first met.  She tangled her fingers in his soft dark curls and arched her back, still a little amazed they’d gone from shouting at each other in a bowling alley to  _this_.

Not that she was complaining.  Apparently all it took for them to get along was a lack of competitive activities and really, she could have listened to him explain the myths behind the constellations all night.  But then she kissed him, and then his lips trailed down to the spot behind her ear that made her gasp, and then it was a blur of hands and discarded clothes and a hastily locked door to keep any neighbors from stumbling on them.  And now his tongue was flickering across her clit so quickly she saw her own constellations behind her eyelids as she came.

Bellamy crawled up her body and kissed her gently, easing her down from her high.  The summer night was warm and still and she slid her hand around his neck to kiss him again while the stars kept watch.


	10. Frustration

“What.  The.  Hell?” Clarke gritted and slammed the door behind her.  It echoed down the metal halls of the Ark, but that was better than everyone hearing their argument.

Bellamy crossed his arms and leaned back against the elevated platform they used as a makeshift examination bed.  “It’s a bad idea,” he said flatly.

“It’s not just that,” she snapped, throwing her arms out.  Honestly, she couldn’t even remember what they’d started fighting about.  Ever since she returned, she and Bellamy just couldn’t get on the same page.  It was almost like those awful first days on the dropship, but now the irritation came with a side of searing pain, because this was  _Bellamy_.  He was supposed to trust her judgment, not fight her on every single thing.  “It’s this.  Us.  Everything.”

Bellamy stayed quiet as she stormed over to him, every muscle in his body tense.  Her hands were shaking, her body trembling with rage and pain and something else she didn’t dare define.  She opened her mouth but her throat went dry, and then suddenly there was no more space between them.  Clarke wasn’t sure if she moved or he did, but within half a second their lips were sealed together.

A tiny voice in her head protested and insisted they needed to talk instead, but somehow, kissing him felt  _right_.  His taste was familiar and new all at once, his touch strong and sure as his hands slid underneath her shirt, pressing against the small of her back while her lips dragged down his jaw.  “Clarke,” he whispered, but it was a jagged, needy sound, and then she was pulling his shirt over his head and he was doing the same, and now her hands were shaking for an entirely different reason, because his skin was hot under her fingers and she couldn’t get enough.

Bellamy spun them around and lifted her onto the examination table, fitting himself between her thighs and burning kisses across her collarbone and down to the valley between her breasts.  She scrabbled at his waistband until the buttons popped free and she could shove his pants and boxers down his hips.  Clarke took him in her hand, hot and hard, and he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, moaning her name.  She stroked him once and he seemed to come back to himself, undoing the button on her jeans and easing them down her legs.  Clarke had a fleeting thought that she was glad it was summer and she was barefoot, but then he was between her knees and kissing her again and all rational thought fled her mind.

He eased a finger inside of her and they groaned in unison as he teased her, adding another finger before she gasped  _now, please, now_  and then he sheathed himself inside of her, both of them shaking in each other’s arms.

It didn’t take long for them to fall apart, breathless and sticky.  Bellamy pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of her jaw.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Clarke ran her hands across his back, keeping him close.  “I’m sorry too,” she breathed, because whatever it was, they would work through it.

Later.


	11. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks ago vesselwiththepestle and lordmxrphy and I were spitballing the idea of a Veronica Mars AU and so naturally I wrote it.

Every town had one–that family.

Rich, powerful, and completely beyond repercussions.

Arcadia had two.  The Griffins (chief of surgery, head of development at Jaha, Inc., and town princess) and the Jahas (owner of Jaha, Inc and town prince).  But then Jake Griffin died in an industrial accident Bellamy’s freshman year of college, and two years later the two families merged into one when Abby Griffin married Thelonius Jaha, which meant between her running the hospital, and him running Jaha Inc andhis new position as mayor, there really wasn’t much of Arcadia they didn’t control.  The schools, maybe, but Clarke and Wells seemed to have that on lock down, or so Octavia told him on their weekly phone conversations.  ( _Oh my god Bell, no one uses their phone to talk anymore.  Just text like a normal person_ ).

But then one bright, sunny afternoon a security guard found Wells Jaha in a pool of his own blood and somehow, Bellamy’s world fell apart.  Two days after the entire city turned out to mourn their prince, Aurora Blake overheard Thelonius sobbing in his room.   _I killed him.  I killed my son_ , he kept saying, and so she did what anyone would do–she called the police and told them what she heard.

Within a week, Aurora had lost her job cleaning the Griffin-Jaha mansion.  Within a month, she’d become a town pariah for turning a grieving father’s words against him.  And within another month she’d spiraled so far down into a bottle Octavia called Bellamy in a panic, begging him to come home.  By the time he made it back, Aurora was gone without a trace.  So he used his meagre savings, rented a small office above a gym and got his PI license.  

He had one goal:

Bring down Thelonius Jaha.  And anyone else who stood in his way.


	12. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (II)

Bellamy was surprised how quickly clients rolled in until he found out Octavia was telling anyone who would listen that he could solve all their problems. For the most part, the cases were simple–getting Jasper Jordan off of a marijuana charge, convincing Lincoln and the Grounders not to pound Nathan Miller into a pulp for swiping some parts from the gang’s garage, tracking down Sterling’s ex-girlfriend–and he actually started making some money. A few cases were harder, like Raven’s (my mom never really knew who my father was, but I’ve got it narrowed down to these four losers and I’d like to know for sure) but Bellamy was good at reading people, and even better at putting pressure on them until they cracked. (Raven’s dad was a trucker up in Fresno and she passed on meeting him due to his raging meth addiction. Bellamy ended up fucking her on the narrow couch in his office a few weeks later, but that was neither here nor there).

Within months, he’d built up a pretty decent client base as Octavia’s friends told their parents about his skills, and he went from fixing up petty high school problems to catching cheating spouses, and he during his free time he worked on the Jaha case. Not that he’d made any progress–everyone was convinced that Murphy had done it, despite his constant protestations of innocence. He didn’t exactly believe Murphy, but a lot of things didn’t add up with the arresting officer’s story, either. For one thing, he highly doubted Murphy would be dumb enough to use a knife with his name on it and then not dump it. At the very least, he would have wiped off Wells’ blood.

Even though Bellamy hated being in Arcadia, business was good. His door creaked open late one night as he shuffled away a handful of photos for a client who was about to get a hefty divorce settlement. “Just a second,” he called without looking, the client’s heels clacking over his uneven wooden floors. He turned and almost choked on his tongue, because the last person he ever thought he’d see in his office was Clarke Griffin. But there she was, in all her glory, staring at him with those icy blue eyes. “Can I help you?” he growled.

“I want to hire you,” she said evenly. “I think my mother killed my father.”


	13. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (III)

Investigating Clarke’s father’s death would have been just another job if she hadn’t insisted on tagging along, questioning his methods and jumping to her own conclusions.  But before long, they’d settled into something resembling a truce.  She was useful in more ways than one, and her login for the Jaha Inc. servers almost made up for her steadfast insistence that Thelonius had nothing to do with Wells’ death.   _It wasn’t him.  I know it wasn’t._    **  
**

Bellamy even dragged her to the prison to talk to Murphy to try and change her mind, but all that got them was Murphy’s usual snarls that Jaha set him up and no less than three insinuations that Clarke was paying Bellamy to fuck her.

“You’re right.  It wasn’t him,” she admitted quietly as they passed the barbed wire fence, the prison still looming behind them.  Bellamy prepared to celebrate but she kept going.  “But it still wasn’t Thelonius.  Not Wells.  Ever.”

“But you think he might have something to do with your dad’s death?”

Clarke stared out the window.  “I do.  Maybe not intentionally, but he and my mother–they had something to do with it.  But he  _didn’t kill his son_.”

Bellamy gritted his teeth and redoubled his grip on the steering wheel.  “So what now?”

Clarke leveled her gaze at him.  “Now we download everything from the company servers that I can get my hands on and figure this out.  Once and for all.”


	14. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (IV)

Bellamy had to admit, the case against Murphy was air tight.  He had a vendetta against the Jahas (Thelonius fired his father and a month later John Murphy, Sr. wrapped his car around a telephone pole and Nancy Murphy had been in and out of rehab ever since) and he’d gotten into a fist fight with Wells just a few days before his murder.  Murphy’s prints were on the knife–still covered in Wells’ blood–that Deputy Shumway found underneath Murphy’s bed.  But that was the problem–it was air tight.  Too perfect.  Almost like someone didn’t want anyone to question Murphy’s guilt. **  
**

Clarke dropped her head back against the armrest, her shoes abandoned on the floor next to Bellamy.  She’d been squinting at logs from Thelonius’ office computer for the past hour while Bellamy poured through _The Daily Arcadia’s_  archives for the months preceding Wells’ death.  So far, they’d found nothing.  Even with all of Monty’s work (he’d refused to hack into Jaha’s servers until Clarke bluntly offered to have Bellamy set him up with Miller and then suddenly he had no problem breaking dozens of federal laws), they had nothing but pages and pages of proof that Thelonius had been working diligently in his office for two hours before and one hour after his only son died.  If Jaha had anything incriminating, he kept it off his work computer.

Clarke sighed heavily and laid the print outs on her stomach.  “There’s nothing here.”

Bellamy craned his neck back, his face just inches from hers.  He meant to say something, but–her lips.  They were full and pink and lush and  _right there_ , and her eyes were burning into him and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he’d wanted to kiss her since the moment she sauntered into his office, so he closed the distance between them and captured her lips with his.  The angle was awkward for both of them and sooner than he’d like she broke away with a soft smile.  They stared at each other, dazed, until Clarke’s eyes focused on his laptop.  “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”  His brain was sluggish, stuck on the feel of her tongue against his.

“That headline.”  She leaned over his shoulder, her scent filling his nostrils.  She squinted and pointed.  “I remember that–Thelonius laid him off for…something.  Whistle-blowing about an experimental project, maybe? I forget what exactly.  But then he killed himself and left a note blaming Thelonius.”

Bellamy scanned the article.  “He killed his wife too.  Christ, his kid found them when she got home from school.”

“How old was his daughter?”  Clarke asked, furrowing her brow.  

“Ten, at the time.  She’d be…twelve or thirteen now.”

“Blonde, right?  Braids?”

Bellamy googled her name and showed Clarke a photo of her at her parent’s funeral.  “You know her?”

“I think–I think she came by the house.  A few weeks before Wells was–well, before.  She was crying.  I thought she was lost or something.  She ran away before I could figure out what she needed.”

Bellamy looked back at her.  “What do you think?”

Clarke’s face was serious.  “I think we have our first lead.”


	15. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (V)

Bellamy shifted as Clarke slept peacefully next to him.  She didn’t stir, so he sat up gingerly.  Still nothing–just deep, even breaths.  Bellamy’s heart was pounding and his brain was screeching at him to stop, to lay back down and curl his body around hers.  He never should have let himself slip like this, never should have let himself fall for her, because in the end, he was going to use her.

Well, he hadn’t  _intended_  to use her.  Not specifically.  But he knew he would never be able to resist being so close to Jaha’s personal computer, so when Clarke had bluntly propositioned him (after weeks of kisses that left them both panting and wanting more) Bellamy should have brought her back to his place, should have fucked her in the backseat of his car, should have done anything but agree to spend the night at the Jaha-Griffin poolhouse.

But now he was here and he couldn’t resist, so he crept out of the poolhouse and into the mansion.  Jaha’s study was easy to find, and installing the program Monty designed was even easier.  Bellamy had just finished when he heard someone at the door and his head snapped up as his heart sank.

Clarke crossed her arms over the sheets she had wrapped around her body.  “Leave,” she whispered raggedly.

“Clarke, let me–”

“I said, leave.  Before I wake them up.  Thelonius will have you arrested for trespassing,” she said, her voice so cold it cut Bellamy to the bone.

Bellamy wanted to explain himself, but he’d known from the moment he left her side how it would look–like he slept with her to get access to her step-father’s office.  It didn’t matter that he was looking for both of them.  So he nodded and slipped back out to the deserted streets.


	16. Bellamy Blake, Private Investigator (VI)

Bellamy sat on the edge of the hospital bed and wondered if pulling out the IV would be worth the shit he would get from Octavia.  He was fine–really–but O would hit the roof and he’d had his fill of her shouting at him tonight.

He really did think he had the situation under control when he went into Murphy’s apartment.  After all, Bellamy was the one that cleared him, so when he got a cryptic text from Murphy asking him to stop by he figured the guy was just being creepy as usual.

He didn’t realize Murphy would try and use him as bait for Clarke.  He actually laughed when Murphy pulled out his gun and told him to text Clarke, because Murphy didn’t understand–Clarke wouldn’t come.  In fact, she’d probably just tell Murphy to shoot him and get it over with, or take the gun and do it herself.

The entire time Murphy was ranting and forcing Bellamy to tie his own noose, Bellamy never imagined that Clarke would be rounding up Octavia and Raven and Monty and Miller and half the biker gang to _blow open Murphy’s back door_ and rescue him.  He wasn’t even sure how she figured out he was being held hostage, or why she gave a damn if he lived or died.  The paramedics arrived shortly thereafter to take him away and his last glimpse of Clarke was of her yelling something at a terrified looking police officer.

That was the first time he’d seen her since she kicked him out of her house.  She didn’t show when he told her he was going to the police about Charlotte, and although she gave a short interview to a local reporter about  _hoping Charlotte gets the help she needs_ , she stayed fairly quiet about the reversal in Wells’ case and the subsequent media storm about improprieties at Jaha, Inc.  Thelonius probably would never see a day in jail, but at the very least he was about to be dragged into months of litigation over his firing of Charlotte’s father.

  Bellamy had also emailed Clarke what he found on Jaha’s computer about her father, but still, radio silence.  He hadn’t found much evidence that her mother had anything to do with Jake Griffin’s death–just an email to Thelonius letting him know that Jake had some concerns about their newest product.  In the end, he and Clarke were both wrong.  Thelonius had nothing to do with his son’s death and Abby hadn’t arranged for Jake to die–at best, Thelonius should have warned Jake that his suspicions were correct before Jake showed up for the surprise inspection that ended in a explosion that took his life.  Negligence and arrogance were Thelonius’ worst crimes, no matter how much Bellamy hated him.

Clarke had every reason to hate Bellamy, but she still saved his life.  He made his decision and ripped out the IV line just as Clarke stormed into his room, looking furious.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?  Get back in bed,” she snapped.  She strode over and shoved him back down.  “Murphy almost killed you but I will if you leave this hospital one second before you’re released.”

Bellamy settled back as best he could.  “What do you care?” he mumbled, because Clarke Griffin in a temper wasn’t someone to be trifled with but he was still curious.

“I care,” she said sourly.

“How did you even know?  That he had a gun on me?”  All Bellamy’s text to her said was  _Murphy wants to talk to us.  I’m at his trailer_ and then she’d come storming in with the cavalry.

Clarke flopped into a chair next to his bed and covered her face with her hands.  “You haven’t sent a single text or email to me that didn’t start with  _I’m sorry_  or  _I know you hate me, but_.  I figured it was a trap, and Murphy’s always given me the creeps.  Then once we got there it was easy enough to figure out what was going on.”  

“For what it’s worth–I’m sorry.  I never should have done…what I did that night.”

She leaned forward and lightly brushed his neck where dark bruises were already blooming.  “I know.  And I–if the situation was reversed, I probably would have done the same thing.  We’re both pretty single minded when we want to be.”  Her fingers drifted down his arms and tangled with his.

“It was real, you know.  That night.  I wasn’t using you–I swear,” he told her.

“I know,” she admitted.  “It was still a dick move though.”

He lifted a hand and stroked her hair gently.  “It was.  Forgive me?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him but a smile played on the edges of her lips.  “We’ll see.”  Her face shifted into something almost mischievous.  “Did you hear?  There’s been rumors that Shumway bribed Mayor Sydney to get his job.”

“I’ve heard those.”

“Think there’s any truth to them?”

Bellamy grinned back at her.  “I think there’s only one way to find out.”


	17. Why are you naked in my kitchen?

Clarke rolled over and blinked her eyes rapidly.  There was something she needed to know–something she needed to remember.  Her gaze fell on a pair of dark wash jeans that definitely weren’t hers and everything clicked into focus.

_Clarke shivered as they all trooped out of the bar.  Her sleeveless top looked great on the dance floor but now she was regretting not grabbing a jacket on her way to meet everyone.  She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle while Raven and Wick loudly debated which bar they were going to next and a heavy arm settled across her shoulders.  “Better?” Bellamy asked and if Clarke hadn’t just had two martinis, she might not have snuggled in closer and nodded in thanks.  She and Bellamy had been dancing around…something for months.  They didn’t see each often, but when they did each moment was charged and heavy in a way that made her stomach curl in on itself.  But with liquid courage pumping through her veins she decided to run with it._

_And run with it they did._

Clarke climbed out of bed and readjusted Bellamy’s shirt where it slipped down her shoulder.  She could hear cooking sounds from the kitchen and while she was a little disappointed he wasn’t there when she woke up, she also wasn’t going to complain.

In her kitchen she found him in his boxers, shirtless, with her green apron strings tied around his waist.  She took a moment to appreciate the view and remember what the muscles in his back felt like under her fingertips and then cleared her throat.  “Any particular reason you’re naked in my kitchen?” she asked, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms under her breasts.

Bellamy glanced over his shoulder with a soft grin. “Good morning to you too, princess.  And the naked thing is sort of your fault.”

Clarke fingered the hem of his shirt.  “I suppose it is,” she conceded and padded across the kitchen to wrap her arms around his waist.  She pressed her lips to his shoulder blade.  “Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes,” he replied and flipped one over in the pan.

“Seems like a lot of work for a one night stand,” she mused against the bare skin of his back.  Bellamy’s entire body tensed under her touch and she chuckled.  “I’m kidding,” she assured him.  She kissed his shoulder again and then rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.  “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Bellamy set down her spatula and spun around to kiss her soundly.  “In that case, I’m not going anywhere either.”


	18. Sharing on an airplane

Clarke stopped at her row and tipped her head toward the dark-haired man sitting in the aisle seat.  He stood up and let her squeeze past into the vacant middle seat and then settled back down.  They exchanged polite smiles while the stern-looking dark skinned woman in the window seat ignored her existence, which was just fine with Clarke.  She hated making forced chit-chat on planes, and the nine hour flight from Honolulu to Denver was long enough–not to mention if either of them were continuing on to Chicago.  Clarke was sure she shouldn’t take that much small talk, so their silence was a blessing.

The flight attendants launched into their safety briefing and Clarke pulled out her kindle.  The man to her left did the same and the first few hours passed in blessed silence.  He handed her her bloody mary when the flight attendants came around with drinks and moved aside when she asked to get out and use the bathroom after another hour.  He stood up when she came back, but just as she sidled between the seats they hit a bout of turbulence.  Clarke stumbled and her seatmate somehow managed to catch her before she fell hard on the armrest.  For just a moment his hands went around her waist and, well, she wasn’t blind.  He was handsome, with those dark unruly curls and the sharp jaw.  His dark brown eyes bored into her and Clarke had a sneaking suspicion that the way her stomach dropped had nothing to do with the turbulence.  The plane leveled out and they smiled awkwardly at each other.  He seemed to realize his hands were still on her hips and let go abruptly, letting Clarke sit back down.

“Clarke,” she said as he buckled his seatbelt.  “Thanks for catching me.”

“Bellamy.  Any time,” he said with a smile that threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

Clarke broke her usual plane rule after that and started making inane small-talk.  She learned Bellamy had been in Hawaii for his sister’s wedding, and she explained just how boring a three day orthopedic surgeon conference could be.  After an hour–and two more drinks, which she expensed to the hospital–Clarke knew a lot about Bellamy.  She knew he’d practically raised his sister, and she knew he was finishing up a doctorate in Ancient History at Northwestern.  In turn, she’d told him about her dad (she didn’t tell a lot of people about him, but after Bellamy mentioned his mother’s death she somehow felt comfortable opening up) and somewhere between her second and third drinks she admitted she hadn’t seen anyone since she and Lexa.  She could have sworn she saw a spark in his eyes when she said that, but she told herself she was imagining things.  

The plane started to descend and Clarke couldn’t believe they were already arriving in Denver as she started mentally calculating how weird it would be to ask if she could switch seats to sit near him on the flight to Chicago.  They filed out of the plane and fell into step next to each other on their way to the next gate.  The airport was unusually busy for so late at night, full of people sleeping on the chairs and standing grumpily in line at the service desks.

DENVER-O’HARE

Flight 562

Scheduled: 10:31pm

 _Delayed_ : 2:55am

Clarke and Bellamy groaned in unison when they reached Gate B23 and discovered that their one hour layover had turned into almost five.  Their gate was already full of disgruntled travelers thanks to Chicago staring down the barrel of a winter storm.  “Why don’t you grab us a seat and I’ll go hunt up some food?” Bellamy suggested, and Clarke scouted out a spot on the floor (all the seats were already full) near an outlet.  

Bellamy was gone for almost ten minutes when he returned with an armful of chips and candy bars.  “Everything’s closed, but I found a vending machine,” he announced.  “Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke assured him and he dumped the food unceremoniously to the ground.  Bellamy sat cross-legged across from her and they sorted through his bounty.  An easy silence fell as they ate, and after a while Clarke felt her eyes growing heavy.  She leaned her head back against the wall and drifted off.  At one point she felt something near her shift, and suddenly she was warm and far more comfortable.

Who knew that sleeping against an airport wall could feel so nice?


	19. Sharing on an airplane (II)

The crackle of an intercom woke Clarke.  Something heavy pressed against the top of her head and she belatedly realized she was sleeping against Bellamy’s shoulder.  When she dozed off he’d been watching a movie on his phone, but now his arm was around her and his cheek rested against her hair.  Blearily she wiped her eyes and straightened, even though it meant leaving the warmth of his arms.  Bellamy pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes while Clarke tried to concentrate on the announcement.

_Delta Flight 562 with service from Denver to O’Hare has been cancelled due to inclement weather.  Passengers are asked to report to the courtesy counter to be rebooked on a later flight._

Bellamy dropped his head back against the wall with a solid thump.  “Did they just say what I think they said?” he grumbled.  

“They did,” she confirmed.  There was already a long line at the counter and she was bleary, exhausted, starving, and still hours away from home.  Bellamy stood and offered her a hand up and they joined the rest of the travellers, leaning on each other for support.  Somewhere deep down Clarke knew Bellamy was essentially a stranger, but he didn’t really feel that way.

And of course, by the time they made it to the front of the line, the next flight they could get on wasn’t leaving until the next day.  “I can’t stay at the airport for another 24 hours.  I’ll die,” Clarke said flatly.  “I’m going to go check out the airport hotels.”

Bellamy shifted on his feet.  “Okay, well, I’ll–uh, I’ll be here when you get back, then.”

“What do you mean, you’ll be here?  You’re  _staying_?”  Clarke’s thoughts were sluggish from jetlag and not enough sleep, but he couldn’t possibly be implying that he was going to spend the next day in a fluorescent-lit airport chair.  

“I’m a grad student, remember?  Another night in a hotel isn’t really in the budget.”  He kept his eyes down, refusing to make eye contact.

“Then I’ll cover it,” she found herself saying.  “I’ll book two, okay?  I’m a doctor and my mom’s loaded.  Besides, you bought dinner.”

A tiny smile crossed his face and he nodded, still looking at the grey industrial carpet.

But of course, nothing was going there way and when they arrived at the cluster of hotels they discovered that there was a  _ranching convention_  of all things, and there was one room left  _anywhere_.  And of course it was a room with just one king sized bed instead of two doubles.  “It’s fine, really–I’ll just take the shuttle back to the airport,” Bellamy soothed, but Clarke was now determined.

“It’s a king sized bed.  We’ll practically be on different planets.  It’s fine–we’ll take it,” she told the clerk and handed over her credit card.

Bellamy was already asleep–in his jeans and t-shirt and on the far edge of the bed, which made her smile–when she left the shower and slid between the crisp, clean sheets.  Clarke felt better than she had since she stepped onto the plane as sleep washed over her.

She woke up hours later, disoriented.  The sun was bright behind the drawn curtains, probably because they’d fallen asleep in the middle of the morning.  She let her eyes drop to Bellamy who was still sleeping, now curled on his side and facing her.  They had only known each other for about a day, but he didn’t feel like a stranger.  He felt like…something more.

His dark brown eyes fluttered open.  “What time is it?” he rasped.

“Middle of the afternoon, I think?” Clarke responded.  There was several feet of space between them and she didn’t like that, so she scooted closer.  “This okay?” she asked.

Bellamy nodded and she moved her head to his pillow.  “This?” she whispered.  Bellamy swallowed thickly as she propped herself up on an elbow.  She brushed a curl back from his forehead and leaned down slowly to press her lips against his.

For one second, nothing happens.  Bellamy seemed frozen in place, even as her lips whispered across his, but then something snapped and he rolled them over, kissing her hard.  His hands framed her face as he settled into the cradle of her hips.  Clarke had decided to go to bed in nothing but an old t-shirt and her bare legs felt odd against his jeans, but she moaned when he ground himself against her.  His hand slipped under her shirt, skimming across her belly and curving around her breast.  Clarke arched her back and scrabbled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against her.  He drew her lower lip between his teeth and nipped while she dragged his shirt up.  Bellamy leaned back to let her pull it off and then rolled over to shuck his jeans.  Clarke whines at the loss of contact which makes him smirk.  “One second,” he whispered hotly in her ear and stumbled across the room, rummaging through his suitcase and returning with a condom.

Each moment cascaded into the next as they frantically chased each other to their peak.  After, Clarke rested her head on the soft space between his shoulder and chest.  “What time is our flight tomorrow?” she asked sleepily.  

“Seven,” Bellamy replied, his fingers working through tangles in her hair.  

“So we’ve got some time?”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.  “Plenty.”


	20. Parental Disapproval

“I’m fine, Mom.  Really.”  Clarke pressed her palm against her eye and tried not to groan audibly.  “I can’t tell you how long the trial will be.  I’ll call when it’s over, okay?”  Abby’s concerned but determined sigh carried even through the slightly fuzzy cell connection, and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut.  “I’ve gotta go, okay?  I’m fine, I promise, and I’ll let you know the second it’s over,” she promised and hung up before Abby could protest anymore.

Clarke opened the rickety bathroom door to find Bellamy lounging on the ugly hotel bedspread idly flipping through channels.  “Your mom’s not a fan of having her daughter work for the FBI, I take it?”

Clarke shook her head and sank down on the other bed.  “Not really.  She was hoping for a doctor, but at this point I think she’d take me quitting it all to be an artist.  She worries.”

“Moms tend to do that,” he pointed out.  “You’re lucky to have one.”

Clarke winced internally, because of course the man who went undercover to bring down the drug cartel that killed his mother would probably do anything to have her back, fretting over when he was coming home.  “I know,” she admitted.

Bellamy kept flipping through the channels, one hand tucked behind his head.  “I’m sure you’re glad the trial will be over soon.  You must be sick of babysitting me.”

“I’ve had worse gigs,” Clarke said with a shrug.  It was true–she didn’t mind playing bodyguard for Bellamy.  She wasn’t thrilled when Lexa handed down her assignment (in fact she sort of wondered if it had anything to do with not calling her after that night they got drunk and kissed at the office Christmas party), but spending a week in a crappy motel with a former undercover cop could have been a lot worse.  Bellamy was smart, at least, and he didn’t hog the bathroom and let her pick the shows almost half the time.  And his half the time he usually landed on a documentary or something, which she rather liked.  All in all, it wasn’t a terrible way to spend a week.  The only problem was food delivery.

“Pizza will be here in 5, by the way,” Bellamy told her, which meant she had to start getting ready.  She quickly changed out of her clothes and into his old shirt, the one that hung down off her shoulder if she wasn’t careful.  She took her bra off and slid it out the arm hole as Bellamy rolled off the bed.  He helped pull her hair from the bun at the base of her neck and muss it a little.  Officially, their cover was “college student running off with her inappropriate boyfriend” and it was important for her to look the part, just in case the pizza guy got stopped by the cartel.  

Someone knocked on the door.  “Be right there,” Clarke yelled.  Bellamy frowned in thought, and then used his thumb to smudge her lipstick.  She told herself her heart was racing because of the possibility of imminent danger and not because of how close he was standing.

“There,” he whispered, and eased his gun out of his holster.  He kept carefully out of sight while she opened the door, his gun poised just in case someone came bursting through while Clarke chatted brightly with the pizza delivery boy.  He seemed fine–not nervous, not sweating, not glancing around like he was being watched–so she tipped him and closed the door behind her.

“We’re clear.”

Bellamy holstered his weapon and took the pizza to let her redress, but Clarke could have sworn she saw his eyes linger a little on her legs.

She’d definitely had worse assignments.


	21. Greaser AU (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a serious weakness for greaser aus. So much so that I’m going to fill a few other prompts in this universe too. However, a disclaimer: everything I know about greasers I learned from The Outsiders and everything I know about women’s colleges I learned from The Bell Jar and Franny and Zooey.

Clarke perched on the low brick wall that separated Arcadia College for Women from the bustling street and popped the top button on her cardigan.  Harper sat down on her right and nudged Clarke with her shoulder.  “He’s back,” Harper whispered.

Clarke smothered a smile and kept her gaze trained on the corner where he leaned against his car, biceps bulging as he crossed his arms across his chest.  “He is,” she confirmed.  His dark hair glinted in the late afternoon sun, his teeth flashing as he laughed at a friend’s joke.

Monroe sat down to Clarke’s left.  “He’s back,” she grinned.  “You going to do something about it today?”

Clarke reached into her bag and pulled out an apple.  “I am.  Wish me luck, girls.”  She jumped down and slung her bag over her shoulder as strode calmly down the street, her skirt swishing while she walked.  He clapped one of his friends on the back as the other man left, leaving him alone.  Clarke bit into the crisp apple and chewed slowly, letting the tart taste wash over her tongue.  

He watched her approach, all dark eyes and a dangerous smile.  “What can I do for you, princess?” he drawled.

Clarke took another bite of her apple and made him wait.  “You’re here a lot,” she observed, almost like she was bored.

“So are you,” he pointed out, reaching over and plucking the apple from her hands.  His fingers brushed against hers and she fought down a shiver.  He bit into the apple and smirked as he chewed.  “Bellamy, by the way.”  He held the apple back out to her and she accepted, pointedly taking her next bite directly from where his mouth had been.

“Clarke.”

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, stepping close.  She refused to back down, even when he trailed his finger down her jaw and lifted her chin up.  He smelled like gasoline and leather and made her heart pound against her ribcage.

She met his gaze evenly and then tipped her head toward the car.  “After you.”


	22. Greaser AU (II)

Clarke had spent her life doing exactly what was expected of her.  She sailed through high school with straight A’s and agreed to attend her mother’s alma mater instead of applying to a more competitive, co-ed institution, even though deep down Clarke knew she would never be the sort of woman Arcadia prided itself on creating.  She moved into Miss Indra’s Boarding House and never broke curfew by more than thirty seconds and since she broke up with Finn she’d spent her weekends curled up in Harper’s room, making small talk and letting Monroe braid her hair.

Clarke was also bored out of her skull.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Harper and Monroe–she did, with every fiber of her being.  But if she was honest with herself, she had been relieved when she found out Finn was cheating on her because the thought of spending the rest of her life in this world made her want to scream and tear her hair out.  She fit perfectly into the life that everyone wanted for her, but she hated it.

Her rebellions thus far had been minor–losing her virginity after prom, or kissing Lexa after too much punch at the graduation dance.  Perhaps they were small infractions only so long as no one knew about them, but she still craved more.  She wanted to burn her life to the ground and see what grew out of the ashes.  

Which was probably why she agreed to drive off with a greaser she’d never met before and fuck him in the backseat of his car, and probably why she agreed to do it again the next week.  Nothing about her time with Bellamy was clandestine–rumors ran rampant through Arcadia and Clarke did nothing to stop them.  She had spent far too long feeling like she was drowning and she was done with it so she let them talk, smiling coyly whenever someone brought it up.

With Bellamy she didn’t feel like she was suffocating–she felt like she was breathing for the first time since her father died.  Clarke came alive under his hands, her skin warm and pliable instead of cold and fragile and she braced her hands against the door as he pounded into her, over and over until she stopped thinking and started feeling.  There was something in the way he kissed her that made her feel strong and whole, not broken and weak.  He made her feel alive, and she almost loved him for it.

He pulled over around the corner from Miss Indra’s just a few minutes shy of curfew, a muscle ticking in his jaw.  “Gotten this out of your system yet, princess?” he growled.

Clarke stared at him, her eyes big.  She still wasn’t used to his mercurial temper, but she’d be damned if she let him think he caught her off guard.  “What are you talking about?” she snapped, her hand on the door.

Bellamy glared at her, his face so different than it had been just minutes ago.  Back then his lips were swollen from her kisses and his eyes were soft and tender, his touches gentle on her skin.  Now he was hard and sharp and so far away it didn’t seem possible they were still in the same car.  “Well, let me know when you’re done with my services.  I don’t feel like sticking around until you get bored with this little phase of yours.”

Clarke’s chest tightened painfully and she threw the door open.  “Go to hell,” she swore and slammed it behind her, clinging to her anger.

That was easier to handle than pain.


	23. Greaser AU (III)

Clarke stepped off the bus and ignored the stares that followed her across the street.  She knew she stood out in this neighborhood but there wasn’t much she could do about that.  She adjusted her white-frame sunglasses and squared her shoulders as she walked the two short blocks to Bellamy’s run down house.  She’d been here before but always with Bellamy as a sort of armor, as a sign that she had a reason to be in this part of town.  Today she had no such safe passage.

She knocked crisply on the door with chipped paint and waited, hoping Monty or Jasper would answer.  Technically, she knew how Bellamy made most of his money, just like she technically knew that he wasn’t “borrowing” those cars from the garage.  She didn’t much care and most of the boys in his gang (and they were boys, no matter how hard they protested that they were  _men_ ) were harmless, but a few–like Murphy–seemed actually dangerous.  Monty and Jasper were making due with the lives they had, but Murphy’s eyes had a coldness that sent shivers down her spine.

Fortunately for Clarke, Jasper opened the door and she managed to talk her way in despite his objections.  The Blake house usually had half a dozen stray children lounging about, but today it was just Jasper.  “He’s in his room,” Jasper muttered and flopped back down on the threadbare couch.  Clarke’s heels clicked over the floor as she marched back to Bellamy’s bedroom and threw open the door.

Bellamy flicked his eyes toward her and then back to the book he was reading, lying on his bed with one hand tucked behind his head.  “What the hell do you want?”

Clarke kicked his door closed and shoved her sunglasses up to the top of her head .  “An explanation.”

“I thought I was pretty clear.  I’m not interested in being your escape,” he sneered, tossing the book to the side and sitting up.  He ran his hands through his floppy hair and rested his elbows on his knees.

“And who said anything about that?”

Bellamy sighed.  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?  Why else did you get in the car with me? I don’t belong in your world, you don’t belong in mine.”  His shoulders slumped, defeated.

Clarke couldn’t deny that that was why it started–he was exciting and different and if she kept going the way she was, she would have gone mad.  But at some point Bellamy had gone from a diversion to someone she wasn’t sure she could live without.  Somewhere between those first few exhilarating fucks in the backseat of a stolen car and this moment, Clarke realized she wanted to be the woman she was with Bellamy, not the girl she pretended to be at school.  “So I guess I shouldn’t have dropped out, then,” she said.

Bellamy’s head snapped up and he looked her in the eye for the first time since that awful fight in the car.  “You what?”

“I dropped out of Arcadia.  That life–that was what my mother wanted, not me.”

“And you’re planning to do what, exactly?  Work as a waitress?”  Bellamy stood up and ran his fingers through his hair again, seemingly distraught.

Clarke shrugged and paced deliberately across his room.  “If I have to.  I’ll find something.  I have to move out of Miss Indra’s by the end of the week, but I sold a few of my paintings so I have some money for now.”  She stopped when she was a hairsbreadth from his body and leveled her eyes at him.

Almost unconsciously his hands came to rest on her hips, right where her high-waisted pants met her blouse.  “You know what I am,” he said, his dark eyes soft.  “That’s not going to change.”

Clarke ran her hands up his arms, reveling in the way his muscles jumped under her touch.  “I never asked you too.”  She linked her fingers behind his neck and waited.

Bellamy dipped his head to press his lips against hers and Clarke knew that finally, she was free.


	24. Come Over Here and Make Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: sub!Bellamy. Because I live my life full throttle.

This presentation was going to be the death of Clarke, not in the least because Bellamy Blake was insisting they run through it again, even though they’d done it three times already.  As soon as they got back to the office she was going to murder Kane, or at least call in a step-daughter favor and never get assigned to a project with Blake again.  Between the flight, dinner in the hotel (both of which they spent bickering over aspects of the presentation) and now this forced rehearsal, she was exhausted.

At the very least, she should have changed into something more comfortable.  Her only solace was that she’d worn thigh highs instead of regular pantyhose, but everything else was uncomfortable.  Her high-waisted pencil skirt was digging into her side, and the lace of her light pink bra (that perfectly matched her panties and she’d chosen it more for that reason than comfort) was scratching something awful.  She fiddled with the cuffs of her white button down (the tag kept flipping out and catching on her hair) and wondered if Bellamy would let her call a time out so she could go put on some jeans.

“Do you think we should lead with the part about revenue streams, or should that stay where it is?”  Bellamy asked, bent over his laptop.

“Keep it where it is,” Clarke replied, opening the minibar and grabbing a couple vodka bottles.

“That shit’s expensive,” Bellamy warned without looking up.

“The company will cover it,” she shrugged and poured them into two glasses.  The ice clinked against the rims as she dropped it in and handed one to Bellamy.  “And you need to loosen up.”

“I’ll loosen up when we land this account, princess,” he growled.  “Not all of us can rely on our step-dad if we fuck up.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and flopped down on the bed, sick of this argument.  Bellamy knew she’d been hired before Marcus even started dating her mother, but he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas and it came out in high stress environments.  She’d worked with him long enough to know there wasn’t any real venom behind his accusation, just frustration.  Stress brought out this version of Bellamy, and she much preferred him when he was flirting and relaxed. “We’ve got this down cold,” she said gently.  “You don’t have to do this to yourself.”

“I like things to be perfect.  Slide seven–should we include the projections on this one, or keep them on slide nine?”

“Swap eight and nine so they come right after slide seven.  But now we’re done.”

“You giving me orders?” he said, and she really wished his voice didn’t send shivers down her spine, but it did.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at his profile.  “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  She raised one eyebrow, waiting on his reaction.  Everything hung on this moment.

“Maybe,” he replied, turning to her with hooded eyes.

Clarke sat up straight, pleased with the turn this was taking.  She downed her drink in one gulp.  “Then stop working.  Take a break.”

“Come over here and make me.”  The timber of his voice made her thighs clench together.

She stood and Bellamy swiveled in his chair to face her.  Instead of moving closer she toed off her shoes and pulled her zipper down, over her hips.  His eyes darkened and he took a sip of his drink.  Clarke watched him swallow and she let her skirt pool at her feet.  She started unbuttoning her blouse, one at a time, while his eyes raked over her.

Clarke loved moments like this–moments where even when she was baring herself, she was in control.  She’d experimented with power play with Lexa, but both of them tended towards being dominant and then everything fell apart anyway.  But the way Bellamy was looking at her set her pulse racing.  She shrugged out of her shirt and paced toward him.  He placed his glass on the desk and watched her, his pupils blown.  “My safeword’s red,” he whispered and she nodded.  He licked his lips when she stopped in front of him and with one finger he traced the scalloped edges of her thigh-highs.  “These are nice,” he mused.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” Clarke asked archly.

Bellamy withdrew his hands and placed them on the armrests as she straddled him, lowering herself onto him, feeling him harden through the layers of clothes.  Her panties were already damp and she stifled a gasp at the sensation.  A tendon strained in his neck as he obeyed her order, and she could see knuckles turning white.  “Steady me,” she whispered in his ear and his hands went to her waist, branding her skin with their heat.  She leaned her head down and pressed her forehead to his.  “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he whispered and that was all it took for her to close the remaining distance between them, sealing their mouths together.  His lips were chapped but warm, and when he sank his teeth into her lower lip she moaned and started rocking against him. The fabric catching on her clit sent sparks through her body and she ground down harder, welcoming his tongue in her mouth with her own.  She rocked her hips faster, needing the friction, as he trailed his lips down the column of her neck.  Her peak ripped through her almost without warning and she dropped her head into the crook of his neck, panting.  His hands never left the curve of her hips but he squeezed her comfortingly and kissed the shell of her ear.

When Clarke returned to herself she picked her head up and looked him in the eye, swirling her hips against him.  “That was good,” she breathed.

“It was,” Bellamy agreed.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” Clarke informed him, crawling off his lap and standing.  “But you’re going to have to take off your clothes and get in bed.”

Bellamy nodded and moved toward the bed as Clarke watched, her body humming with excitement.

Bellamy Blake was going to be the death of her.


	25. Tangled AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by Disney's Tangled.

Bellamy stared at the young woman in front of him, uncomprehending.  He was only looking for a place to hide from the Reapers when he darted into what he assumed would be just another abandoned bunker.  The forest was littered with places like this–places from Before, stocked with evidence of lives that didn’t have to run from the Mountain Men or Reapers or battle with death every day, just to wake up and do it all over again.  He had shouldered the door open, not noticing the hiss of escaping air, and then forced the interior door open because in his experience the more walls between him and bloodthirsty Reapers, the better.

And then there she was: blonde and slightly terrified, holding a heavy piece of iron over her head like a weapon.  “How did you get in here?” she demanded in the tongue of the Mountain, backing away from him like he was a Reaper.

“Door,” he growled in English, wondering why those eyes looked so damn familiar.  “I opened it.”

“Father Dante said no one could find me here,” she argued.  “You–you shouldn’t have been able to get in.”

“Then he left it open.  Look, I’m not here to hurt you,” Bellamy tried, holding his hands up in surrender.  “I just need a place to hide for a few minutes until they leave.”

“They?” She cocked her head like she was puzzling him out.  “You’re all the same.  Father Dante says so.”

Bellamy pressed his ear to the interior door and listened to the Reapers scrabbling around outside.  “Then Father Dante is a goddamn liar.  Those out there?  Making that noise?  They’ll rip you to pieces.  I won’t.  Probably.”  

She narrowed her eyes but slowly lowered her weapon.  “Father Dante said all Outsiders are rabid.”

“Like I said, Father Dante is a goddamn liar,” Bellamy said as he restrained from rolling his eyes.  There was something naggingly familiar about her–her eyes, her jaw, the way she lifted her chin to look down her nose at him, the same way Commander Griffin looked at her troops before sending them into battle.

That was when it hit him.

_The missing princess._

He’d found her.

The princess crossed her arms across her chest and evaluated him.  “I want to see the fires,” she announced, and god why didn’t he see the resemblance to the Commander sooner?  She had her father’s coloring, but her mannerisms were all Abby.

“The fires?” he asked, his brain ticking as he tried to figure out a way to convince her to leave with him.

She grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip and dragged him to the center of the bunker.  “The fires,” she repeated and pointed straight up.  Bellamy followed her gaze to the window set firmly in the ceiling.  He squinted at the stars, trying to remember where they were, trying to figure out what fires she was talking about.  “They happen every year at the same time.”

 _The fires._  Every year since her daughter was taken, the Commander set off signal fires.  They took a tremendous amount of explosive powder as they detonated in the air at twilight on the anniversary of her kidnapping.  “So you want to see the fires,” he repeated, taking in the long, flexible tubes on the floor, the marks on her arms, the pallor of her skin, the dark circles under her eyes.  Bellamy had heard rumors of what happened to his people when they were captured by the Mountain Men so he was fairly sure he knew what was happening to the princess.  

He listened at the door again to make sure the coast was clear.  “I can take you,” he offered.  She opened a trap door in the corner, revealing a dank tunnel under the bunker, but Bellamy shook his head and motioned toward the door. 

“This way, princess.  I’m taking you outside.”


	26. Scheming Students

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: Can you please write a teacher au where it's " you stole my /custom made and bedazzled/ door stopper and I'd appreciate if you give it back" for Bellarke please
> 
> It went in a slightly different direction, though.

Lockers slammed outside Clarke’s room as she started clearing away material from 8th period’s lab.  She still had some quizzes to grade, but with any luck she would be out the door by 4pm, which wasn’t too bad for a Friday afternoon.  A soft knock made her look up from the fume hood to find Bellamy leaning against the door jamb looking sheepish.

“Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.  It wasn’t that she didn’t like Bellamy, it was just–well, he made her a little awkward.  He was just so  _handsome_.  And things had been so weird between them since the Seniors vs. Faculty basketball game.

“You have Jasper and Monty, right?”

“Yeah.  Third period.  They usually stick around after because they have fourth period free and I let them mess around in the lab sometimes.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle.  “You’re a brave woman.”

“I don’t leave them alone in here, so not that brave,” she replied with a tiny smile.  “But what about them?”

“I’ve got them second period and I seem to be missing something.”

“And you think it’s here?”

“Possibly,” Bellamy conceded.  “It’s a replica of a Roman helmet–think it might be stashed here?” he asked, gesturing to the cupboards.

Clarke nodded and Bellamy started searching the cabinets while she pulled open the drawers under the lab benches.  “Any reason you think they brought it here in particular?”

Bellamy kept his back to her and ducked his head.  Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw his ears turning red.  “It’s–it’s just a stupid theory they have.”

Clarke rested her hip against the lab bench and raised an eyebrow.  “You know you’re going to have to elaborate, right?”

Bellamy sighed and turned around and yeah, he was  _definitely_  blushing.  “They’ve decided I have a crush on you.”

“A crush,” Clarke repeated, starting to enjoy his embarrassment just a little bit.

He cut his eyes toward her.  “Yeah.  A crush.  They, uh, they noticed when I hugged you during the basketball game and it sort of spiraled from there.”

Clarke remembered that hug rather vividly, to be honest.  They were both sweaty and disgusting, but she’d just made both of her free throws and then his arms were around her waist, picking her up and spinning her around. 

Suddenly, Bellamy wasn’t the only person in the room blushing.  “So…they stole the helmet to get you to talk to me?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

“I think so?  It’s my best theory so far, at least.  Although I’d hate to have to admit that they were on to something,” he said with just a hint of flirtation in his voice.

Clarke found the missing helmet wedged behind a stack of extra textbooks in a cabinet near her desk.  “Found it!” she called.  “And at any rate, I think what they don’t know they can’t hold over our heads.”  She smiled and sent him a tiny wink.

Bellamy’s answering smile made her heart flip-flop, and in that moment Clarke resolved to not yell at Monty and Jasper the next time they caused a minor explosion.


	27. Hypothermia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompts: "if you ever have the time and/or inclination someday, could you maybe write something based off taylor swift's 'you are in love'. particularly the lines: one night he wakes, strange look on his face. pauses, then says, 'you're my best friend.' and you knew what it was, he is in love," (from hgrangerish) and "Canon universe: Bellarke realizing that they romantically like each other, not just platonically, or Bellarke first time" (from anon.)

Clarke blew gently on the pile of dry grass in front of her, urging the tiny flame to catch on.  Slowly, and with great care, she started building up the fire to ward off the early spring chill as the light faded outside of the cave.  Bellamy should be back soon–he’d gone off to try and hunt, hoping to supplement their ration packs with some real meat.  Camp Jaha had technically given them enough ration packs to last the journey to and from Polis, but those only supplied the bare minimum and neither Clarke nor Bellamy felt like falling asleep with a growling, aching stomach.

She glanced up at the sight of footsteps, ready to show off her now-blazing fire, but the words died in her throat at the sight of him.  His hair was dripping, his clothes dark with water and clinging to his eerily-pale skin.  “T-t-tripped,” he stuttered.  “Near a river bank.  Fell.  In.”

“Oh my god,” she gasped.  “Get in here.”

Bellamy had his arms wrapped around his middle, shivering.  “I d-didn’t get anything,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about that.  Clothes–off,” Clarke ordered.  “Now, Bellamy.”  His teeth were chattering and his hands shaking, so she joined him and helped him peel the layers off.  His skin was cold and clammy to the touch and a knot settled in the pit of her stomach.   _Not like this.  This is not how this ends–this can’t be how I lose him,_  her brain protested.   _Not after everything we’ve been through._  Bellamy was down to his boxers when she unrolled their sleeping packs and spread his out near the fire.  She motioned for him to take them off and turned her back, giving him a semblance of privacy.  “In,” she barked, fear getting the best of her.

Bellamy complied without a single sarcastic remark, which was how she knew it was serious.  She added two more logs to the fire and unzipped her own sleeping pack, draping it over his like a blanket before she started shedding her own clothes.  “Wh-wh-wh–what…” Bellamy managed through his chattering teeth.

“Body heat.  Move over.”  Giving him orders like she was a dispassionate doctor was keeping her fear at bay so she clung to that role, mentally running through everything Nyko had taught them about hypothermia two winters ago.  She stripped completely and shimmied into the sleeping pack next to Bellamy, wrapping her arms around his still-trembling body.  “It’s going to be okay,” she soothed.  “You’ll warm up.”  Privately, the chill of his skin and slow heartbeat against her chest worried her more than she cared to admit, but she didn’t dare tell him that.  “You’re gonna be fine, okay?  I’m here,” Clarke whispered in his ear as her own body heat started leeching out.

Gradually, his shivers slowed and then stopped, and his skin started to lose its pallor.  She risked unwinding her limbs from his to add a few more logs to their fire, and by the time those had burned most of the way down heat seemed to be returning to his skin.  He looked at her with heavy lidded eyes.  “Thank you,” he breathed.

Clarke affected an easy-going smile to hide her still present fear.  “Like I’d let you die on me,” she teased.  She shifted to her back and pulled his head to her shoulder, letting his steady breaths reassure her that he was coming back.

“You’re my best friend, you know,” he mumbled, more coherent than he’d been since he came in, his eyelashes fluttering against her collarbone.  

Clarke allowed herself a genuine smile, hearing the meaning behind his simple words.  “And you’re mine,” she told him, carding her fingers through his damp curls.  “You’re going to be okay,” she promised him, more for herself than anything else.

Bellamy’s head grew heavier on her chest as he drifted off, and Clarke waited until he was asleep to whisper  _I love you, too_  against his hair.


	28. Art Model

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: I love the idea of college!bellarke where Clarke takes a life drawing class and Bellamy is the model. Orrr he's her teacher she has a crush on and then one day he can't find a model and he models himself... Or whatever you come up with along those lines ish if you want to.

Clarke really lucked out–when she posted an ad for a model on Craigslist, she was pretty sure she would get a neverending stream of creeps and/or burglars.  But Bellamy agreed to meet her for coffee and didn’t set off any alarm bells.  Plus, he didn’t seem to mind sitting quietly for long stretches at a time.  _I work out problems with my dissertation.  It’s nice to not have any distractions,_ he’d told her during one of their breaks.

There was also the unavoidable fact that he was incredibly handsome in a way that made her want to sketch him for things  _other_  than her ongoing class project.  (She was calling it  _Reincarnation_  and it featured Bellamy in a variety of different eras.  She was pretty sure his Roman Centurion costume was her favorite, although she was also partial to him dressed up as a pirate, and christ, she had a  _problem_.)  And the unavoidable fact that he was an absolutely out-of-control flirt.  And the fact that she couldn’t stop herself from flirting back.

So when he proposed drawing  _her_  for a change, it didn’t take much convincing on her part.  He made mock stern faces whenever she giggled, and even though the end result didn’t look much like her it didn’t stop her from kissing him.


	29. Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: Every time you cook you set off the smoke alarm so you know what I’m just going to teach you how to cook for bellarke please.

“Okay, now the baking powder,” Clarke instructed from her perch on the counter.  Bellamy grumbled something under his breath and she nudged his hip with her toe.  “You’re the one that wanted to bake something for Octavia.”

Bellamy measured out the baking powder and dumped it in. “I thought we’d just do a mix or something.  None of this from scratch bullshit.”  His hair had a light dusting of flour standing out against the black curls, left over from when Clarke had playfully blown a little in his face.  He’d been annoyed with her then–he‘d actually been annoyed since she took him grocery shopping and announced that she would only help him bake Octavia a cake if he did it her way, no questions–but the smile that played along the corners of his mouth told her he didn’t really mind.

Which was good, because she wasn’t sure he knew this was actually sort-of a date.  (What?  She’d known him forever.  They’d danced around  _this_  forever.  She was sick of it, so she was going to lay all her cards on the table and let him decide, so to speak).

“Now the eggs,” Clarke replied.  “And trust me–from scratch is so much better.”  Bellamy cut his eyes at her and cracked the eggs open.  “Okay, turn the mixer on–no higher than three or four.  We just want to stir it.”

The mixer whirred to life and Bellamy insinuated himself between her knees, his hands burning through her jeans and branding her thighs. “How long?”

Clarke peered into the mixing bowl.  “Until it’s done.  Smooth and blended.  I’ll let you know.”

“So we have a minute?” he asked with a smirk.

Clarke locked her ankles behind his back and pulled him closer.  “We do.  But only a minute.”  She licked the tip of her finger and dipped it into the bowl of sugar next to her, but Bellamy intercepted her hand as she brought it to her lips.  He dragged it to his mouth and gently licked the digit clean.   “Only a minute,” she whispered as she leaned close to him.

Bellamy reached out blindly and flipped off the mixer.  “Or maybe longer,” he whispered back, capturing her lips with his.

(He tasted like sugar.)


	30. Team Teaching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: 'Bellarke student/teacher OR student/TA OR teacher/teacher and them trying to be discreet but it's so obvious to everyone' please

“Mr. Jordan, that doesn’t look like an era appropriate helmet crest,” Clarke warned from two tables away.

“Yes it is!” he protested indignantly.

“Jasper, you and I both know that’s a penis,” Bellamy interjected.  “And if I remember correctly, that’s not what was on Miltiades’ helmet.”

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling and studied Monroe’s first attempt at copying a coin with Sappho’s profile.  Agreeing to let Bellamy’s students recreate the artifact of their choice for extra credit ( _some of them are more tactile learners,_  he’d pleaded) meant giving up her lunch period, but she didn’t really mind.  It was nice to have someone else to help supervise, since most students saw ceramics as a chance to make either penises or bongs.  “Press a little lighter on the edges,” she told Monroe.  She glanced up and caught Bellamy’s eyes sparkling with amusement.

“There!” Jasper yelled.  “Did you guys see that?”

“See what?”  Clarke looked around the room, perplexed.

“She looked at him,” Jasper told his classmates proudly.  “I  _told_  you guys they were dating.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes.  “Ten minutes until the bell, guys.”

“You are, aren’t you?  You’re dating Miss Griffin?”

“Jasper, sometimes two adults look at each other and it doesn’t mean anything,” Bellamy admonished.  “Back to work.”

Jasper threw them both a suspicious look but turned back to his now penis-free helmet and when the bell rang he filed out into the hall with everyone else. 

Bellamy waited until the classroom was empty and dropped his lips near her ear.  “Good thing they didn’t see us come in together this morning,” he whispered and this time, she didn’t bother to hide her smile.


	31. Is this how you see me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: Bellamy finds Clarke's art book and he's flipping through looking at the drawings of Camp Jaha and its inhabitants and notices some great drawings of himself, and he wonders if that's how she really sees him? Please include Clarke, Canon universe?
> 
> Set in some nebulous future canon-verse where everything is actually okay for once.

Bellamy ducked into Clarke’s cabin to let her know that he’d changed around the guard shifts thanks to Monroe’s sprained ankle, but all he found was a cold hearth and her desk covered in papers.  He was about to leave when something caught his eye–a hand, drawn in deft, sure strokes.

_Clarke’s sketches._

She didn’t normally let people see them.  They were her closely guarded secret and Bellamy knew he should leave and respect her privacy, but instead he moved closer.  Lately, things with Clarke had been strained–they could still work as a team, but there seemed to be something unspoken haunting their every interaction and he was sick of it.  He wanted to understand her again, the way he used to, so he pushed forward when he should have retreated.

The top sketch was of the fence surrounding Camp Jaha, with Mount Weather looming in the background.  There were two tiny figures at the entrance to the gates and Bellamy somehow knew one was him and the other was Clarke, even though they were little more than outlines.  He lifted the papers to reveal the sketch that had caught his eye, sticking out haphazardly from the pile.

The whole drawing was an arm, gently plucking a tiny violet from a new-grown patch of grass.  There was something familiar about the moment, something that stirred a memory in the deep recesses of his brain.  He held the sketch closer and noticed a tiny scar between the thumb and pointer finger of the hand–a scar that was also on the hand holding the sketch, and then he remembered.  They’d been on a scouting mission three months ago, just after the snow and frost finally disappeared.  He’d noticed the tiny flower, the first one they’d seen in months.  (it was strange how quickly they’d adapted to the vivid colors of Earth–after years in a grey coffin, they should have borne the barren waste of winter much more easily than they did). He’d stooped and handed it to her with a curt  _look’s like it’s officially spring_.

He didn’t think she’d remember it, because shortly after that trip she’d shifted from treating him like a friend to a colleague.  She’d stopped bumping her shoulder against his when Miller said something that _clearly_  alluded to his massive crush on Monty, and she’d stopped coming by his cabin at the end of the day to debrief.  Bellamy flipped through the pages, noticing pieces of himself everywhere.  A pair of dark eyes stared back at him and a silhouette with unmistakable curly hair marked another page.  There he was by the fire, telling a story to some of the younger kids, his hands seeming to move even though they were just charcoal and paper.

He didn’t look up when she entered because there, between the last two pages, was a small, withered violet.  He should have apologized, but instead he held her sketches with almost-trembling hands.  “Is this how you see me?”

In response, she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him.


	32. Clarke is unhappy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From chromacreature's prompt: I have been dying to see a little something about Clarke wanting desperately to be with Bellamy in early season 1 and wanting to join the harem but not wanting there to be a harem, you feel me? haha like a woman wants a man, kinda messy and confusing. :)
> 
> Set somewhere around 1x02 and 1x03.

Clarke had almost gotten used to surprises on the Ground.  First, they survived.  She knew her mother hoped that would happen, but she didn’t quite believe it.  Then, she had to deal with Wells–Wells, the boy who wouldn’t break a rule, ever, had gotten locked up so he could come with her, even though she hated him with every fiber of her being.

The surprises came thick and fast after that: the other survivors, the spear, the panther, Jasper’s survival.  She adjusted to them all, except one: Bellamy.  From that first moment on the dropship she couldn’t get a read on him as he shifted from authoritative to reckless to angry to compassionate, and Clarke didn’t like mysteries any more than she liked surprises.  She thought she understood him when she brought him along to search for Jasper, but then the ground gave way beneath her feet and it was just his hand keeping her from death.  She saw the flicker in his eyes when he thought about letting her go, and she saw the determination set in when he pulled her up.

Even more frustrating than Bellamy were her feelings toward him, which spanned from hatred to annoyance to pure, unadulterated lust.  That last emotion was the biggest surprise of them all, starting with a tiny spark that became an inferno as she faced him down, demanding he help save one of their own as he flashed a slice of his hip to show her the gun.  It would be an easy fix, but that was part of the problem–it was an  _easy_  fix.  It seemed like every night she saw him whispering into a different girl’s ear, making her giggle, and every morning she watched him kiss that girl goodbye.

Fitting herself into his rotation wouldn’t have been difficult.  She saw the way he looked at her, after all.  A few words, a smile, maybe a lingering touch–that’s all it would take.  But she held back because at her core, Clarke was possessive.

She didn’t want just one night–she wanted them all.  She didn’t want to be one of many, she wanted to be  _the_  one.  Not for sentimental reasons, but because Clarke didn’t share.  She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t.

So instead she watched Bellamy disappear into his tent with someone else and pretended she wasn’t furious.


	33. Single Parents (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: we switched shopping carts after check out and I'm really embarrassed and trying to figure out who you are but on the bright side you don't wear axe

“Holly, that’s enough,” Clarke snapped and killed the engine.  Today had been bad enough without her daughter throwing a massive temper tantrum in the grocery store, a tantrum that had continued the entire drive home even though she had probably forgotten what it was even about.  She unhooked Holly, kicking and screaming, from her car seat as her mother came out into the garage.

Abby picked the still squalling Holly up while Clarke pulled up the liftgate.  “Rough day?” she said sympathetically.

“Something like that–oh,  _shit_ ,” Clarke swore, because right on top of the first bag of groceries were frozen peas, something she knew she’d never buy (she and Abby clashed on many things, but their mutual hatred of peas was not one of them), and she didn’t see her pasta and canned sauce anywhere.  She hadn’t bought formula in years and one bag was nothing but that and diapers, both of which would be useless with three year old Holly.

“What’s wrong?” Abby asked, wiping tears from Holly’s face.  Clarke wished she could say Holly’s penchant for histrionics came from Finn, but Abby had muttered darkly enough about  _payback_  that Clarke knew that charming habit was all hers.

“I grabbed the wrong cart after checkout.”  The store was a zoo, full of people frantically shopping after work, and Holly’s tears had set off a baby in the next line.  Clarke was desperate to get out (and get Holly off the floor, where she was flopping down with gusto) and the crying baby’s father seemed equally flustered.  He’d crashed into her cart and apologized profusely, but Clarke was too preoccupied to do anything but sling her purse over her shoulder, pull Holly from the floor, and push her cart out to the car.  In the confusion while their kids screamed they must have swapped carts, and in her haste to get home she didn’t even notice.

“Run back to the store–maybe she’s still there,” Abby suggested.

“He,” Clarke corrected, completely unnecessarily.  “Can you handle her?”

“Years of practice,” Abby deadpanned and Clarke climbed back into the driver’s seat, praying the flustered dad would do the same thing.

In a rare stroke of luck she saw him standing in the parking lot looking completely lost.  She pulled up next to him and relief washed over his handsome features.  He was wearing one of those baby slings that Clarke always envied–Holly hated them as a baby even though they would have given Clarke’s hands some much needed freedom.  “Thank god you’re still here,” she said and headed straight for the trunk.  “That your car?”

“It is,” he confirmed.  “Thank you so much for coming back–Gus was freaking out and I didn’t even notice, and then you were gone but you had all my stuff and I didn’t know–I mean, how would I get in touch with you?  You’re just some woman from the store, and I can’t exactly find you by looking up pretty woman from the store with crying kid, you know?  And Gus has calmed down now but you still had my stuff, and I–”  Clarke raised her eyebrows at him and he broke off sheepishly.  “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are.”  She jerked her chin toward the trunk of his car and he popped it open.  “Single parent?” she guessed.

He rested his hand on his baby’s head and smiled ruefully.  “That obvious?”

“Takes one to know one.”  Clarke deposited the last of his bags in his car and grabbed hers.

“Can I help?” he offered.

“I’ve got it.  You’ve got Gus in the way.”

He glanced down at Gus with unmistakeable love in his eyes.  “Where’s yours?”

“With my mom.  I live with her.  It’s not ideal, but it helps to have her around.”

“That’s really lucky,” he said and Clarke had to admit, between the smile and the curls and the baby-strapped-to-his-chest thing, she was interested.  Luckily, he seemed to have the same idea.  “I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

“Clarke,” she said and slammed her liftgate shut.  “I’m guessing you don’t get out much, but I take Holly to the park over on Poplar on Saturday mornings.  You should join us sometime.”

Bellamy smiled broadly.  “That sounds nice.  See you Saturday?”

“Saturday,” she repeated.

She smiled the whole drive home.


	34. Single Parents (II)

Clarke was enjoying the feel of the sun on her face when someone sat down next to her.  She instinctively knew it was Bellamy, even though she’d only met him the one time at the grocery store.  (Or twice, if you counted mixing up their carts and then rectifying it later). “Hey there,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Hey yourself,” Bellamy tossed back easily enough.  “Where’s the munchkin?”

Clarke opened her eyes and pointed.  “Just past the slide–she’s building something in the sand.  Knowing her it’s probably a princess castle.  We’re big into princesses these days.”

“Holly, you said?”

“Yup.  How’s Gus?” she asked and peered at the sleeping bundle once again strapped to Bellamy’s chest.  He had dark hair and olive skin, but unlike his father’s curls Gus’ hair was stick straight.

“He hasn’t quite figured out that night is for sleeping and daytime is for being awake, but otherwise he’s good.”

Clarke smiled wryly.  “I remember that time vividly.  Do you have anyone helping out, at least?”  Over on the playground Holly abandoned her castle and started climbing the big wooden steps toward the slide.

“My sister stops by when she can, but she’s got kids of her own.  Mostly it’s just the two of us.”  Clarke nodded and kept her eyes on Holly, because she knew he was waiting for the inevitable  _where’s his mom?_  question.  Clarke was well versed in that awkward dance and guessed he hated it as much as she did.  She could almost hear the relief in his voice when he asked, “So you said you live with your mom?”

“I do.  It’s not ideal, but it makes sense, at least until Holly’s in school full time.”  She glanced at him and took in the dark circles under his brown eyes and the exhaustion written across his handsome face.  “Mind if I hold him?  I miss that age,” she offered, because she remembered all too well what it felt like to be constantly holding your kid without a break.  No matter that you loved them more than life itself, sometimes you wanted to feel like you were your own person, even if just for a bit.

Bellamy handed Gus over with a grateful look and slipped the sling off his neck.  “You mean to tell me there’s going to be a point when I’ll miss the constant sleep deprivation?”

Clarke chuckled as she stifled her impulse to smell Gus’ head.  (She’d always been a sucker for new-baby smell, even before Holly was born.)  “Trust me.  If he’s anything like mine, you’ll rue the day he ever learned the word ‘no.’  Sometimes I think it’s the  _only_  world she knows.”  Gus opened his eyes slowly and Clarke smiled at him, and then looked up at Bellamy.  Her words died in her throat at the way he was looking at her, but a familiar shriek startled her out of her reverie.  She looked toward the slide just in time to see Holly dive out of it face first into the sand.  “Oh,  _shit_ ,” Clarke swore and sprang out of her seat, only to realize she was still holding Gus.

“On it,” Bellamy said and took off toward the playground, covering the ground in just a few swift strides.  He deftly picked the now-crying Holly up and brought her back to Clarke.  “Swap?” he asked, balancing her on his hip.  Clarke nodded and handed him Gus as he set Holly down and Clarke let Holly crawl into her lap.  “Doesn’t look like it broke the skin–she’s probably just a little shaken up,” he said, watching with undisguised concern as Holly buried her face in Clarke’s neck.

“I think so too,” Clarke confirmed and smoothed Holly’s hair as her sobs slowly turned back to hiccups.  “Hey honey, remember how Uncle Wells and Aunt Harper are going to have a baby?” Clarke asked Holly once the storm seemed to have passed.  Holly pulled her head back and nodded solemnly.  “Bellamy has a baby too.  Do you want to see?”

Holly twisted in Clarke’s lap and Bellamy held Gus out for her inspection.  He was fully awake now, gurgling happily.  “Be gentle,” Clarke reminded Holly as she climbed down onto the bench to look closer.

“He likes fingers,” Bellamy said and showed Holly how to hold her pointer finger out for Gus to grasp.  Holly squealed delightedly when Gus grabbed onto her finger, and the answering smile on Bellamy’s face made Clarke’s heart do a stutter-step.

God, she hoped he would come back next Saturday.


	35. Single Parents (III)

Clarke darted from her car to Bellamy’s door with Holly on her hip, squealing joyfully at the rain.  Bellamy had the door open before she even had to knock, holding Gus on his own hip.  But in contrast to Holly, Gus was screaming inconsolably.

“What’s wrong with Gus-Gus?” Holly asked as Clarke set her down and started stripping off her raincoat.

“He’s getting a tooth and that hurts sometimes,” Bellamy explained, his hand on the back of Gus’ head.

Clarke shrugged out of her own coat and hung it up on the hook.  Recently their Saturday-morning-in-the-park ritual had expanded to include Clarke coming to Bellamy’s house if it was too cold or wet to play outside.  She knew he was craving the company of other parents and she liked the change of pace–it gave Abby a few hours off and she had Bellamy as back up for Holly’s endless questions and all-too-frequent tantrums.

Plus, Holly loved Gus unreservedly.  She’d gone so far as to tell Wells and Harper that they didn’t need to have their baby now because she already had one, a proclamation that meant Clarke had to explain to Wells just who Gus’ dad was.  That proved harder than it should be, because within just a few weeks _friend_  had become far too paltry of a word for Bellamy.  She liked how seamlessly they worked together, helping out with each other’s kids and trading off like they had been partners for years instead of months.

Holly ran towards Bellamy’s living room to see what books he’d laid out for her today, because whenever Holly came over he made a point of pulling a couple new picture books out of his extensive collection and leaving them on the coffee table.  Gus’ wails continued as they followed.  Clarke surveyed Bellamy out of the corner of her eye, taking in the greasy hair and clear exhaustion.  “When was the last time you showered?”

Bellamy stopped shushing Gus.  “That bad, huh?”

“I remember how it was.  I think I took three minute showers the whole time I was on maternity leave with Holly in her carseat on the bathroom floor.  It’s hard.”

“The only way he doesn’t scream is if I’m holding him,” Bellamy explained.  “Kind of hard to shower that way.”

“Here,” Clarke offered and held out her hands.  Bellamy transferred Gus to her without a second thought.  “Go shower.  I can hold down the fort.”  Holly was already sitting on the couch with a book open in her lap.

Bellamy shot her a grateful look and practically sprinted up the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later Clarke was puttering around his kitchen, making sandwiches, when she heard his steps thundering down the stairs.  She darted to the staircase and stopped him with a hand over his mouth before she realized he was in nothing but a towel.  Droplets of water hung from the ends of his hair and his dark eyes bored into hers, his mouth soft under her palm.  She kept her eyes on him and did her best not to let her gaze drop down to his leanly muscled chest.  Clarke pulled her hand away and put a finger to his lips, tilting her head to the living room.  

Bellamy peeked around the edge of the stairs and his shoulders relaxed as he saw Gus sitting in his bumpo, giggling while Holly read to him.  (She hadn’t quite mastered reading yet, but she loved to sit with books and make up stories to go with the pictures and insisted that counted as “reading.”)

“They were so quiet I assumed something was wrong,” he whispered.

“He calmed down for now. I’m sure there’s another storm on the horizon, but he’s okay for now.  I was making lunch for us, if you want?”

Bellamy looked at her, his eyes dropping to her lips and then refocusing, his hand still holding the towel wrapped around his waist.  He tipped his chin down and kissed her so softly it took her brain a moment to catch up and kiss him back.  A screech from Gus broke them apart and Bellamy rested his forehead against hers.  “Figures,” he muttered.

“Mom!  Gus is crying!” Holly yelled unnecessarily.  

“Go get dressed.  I’ve got this,” she told Bellamy and shooed him back up the stairs.  She walked over to Gus and lifted him to her hip.  He cuddled into her automatically and she bounced him gently.  “Hey little man,” she whispered as she walked back to the kitchen.  “I think I might be around a little more often to see your daddy.  Is that okay with you?”

Gus’ cries quieted a little and Clarke decided to take that as a yes.


	36. Single Parents (IV)

“Mom.  Mom.  Mom.   _Mom_.”

Clarke stifled a groan as she rolled over and cracked an eye open.  “Gus is hungry,” Holly informed her, her face entirely too close to Clarke’s for comfort.  Clarke’s eyes focused and she saw Gus standing solemnly next to Holly, his dark hair in striking contrast to hers.  Clarke did not want to know how Gus got out of his crib, but she suspected her daughter’s proclivity for climbing had something to do with that.

Clarke flung an arm out and slapped her husband’s shoulder.  “The kids want breakfast,” she mumbled.

“Mmmph,” Bellamy responded.  

“We need a minute to wake up–want to come in?” she offered, and before she even finished speaking Holly was clambering up and over Clarke.  She settled between them with several knees and elbows to their ribs.  Clarke hauled Gus up too and rolled over, curling an arm over his squirmy and chubby body.  Bellamy mirrored her as Holly cuddled up against him.

“How did Gus get out of his crib?” Bellamy asked Clarke over their heads.

“I think we’re better off not knowing.” 

“Park today?” Holly asked hopefully.

Clarke untangled Gus’ hand from her hair.  “You up for it?” she asked Bellamy who looked as groggy as she felt.  

“After coffee, yeah,” he mumbled and Holly and Gus squealed joyfully.  Gus elbowed Clarke in the throat and she decided that as cute as this was, she needed to get the kids out of their bed before one of them got seriously injured.

“Alright guys, downstairs.  You can watch Dora after you finish your cereal, okay?” Clarke announced and lifted Gus down.  

Holly wriggled herself off the bed and grabbed Gus’ hand.  “Breakfast, Gus Gus!” she yelled and tore out of the room, dragging him after her.

Clarke allowed herself a groan now that they were safely out of earshot and rolled over to kiss Bellamy good morning.  “I’ll get the coffee going,” she promised.

“You’re the best,” Bellamy said, his voice still muffled by the pillow.

“I know.  But you’re handling breakfast tomorrow, okay?” Clarke cinched her robe tightly around her waist.  Bellamy murmured something she took as agreement as she headed out and down the stairs, the noise of their kids clattering around the kitchen and giggling echoing through the house.


	37. Understandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2x09 but before 2x10. Speculation, mostly.

Bellamy’s first thought as his eyes fluttered open was that every single inch of him hurt.  His left hip burned, worse than anything else, and he had to force his mind away from memories of being strapped down in the dungeon of Mount Weather while that sadistic doctor drilled into him.  He blinked against the bright lights and noticed a blonde head of hair pillowed on the bed next to him.  He quirked a smile and lifted his hand—which hurt his shoulder and he couldn’t remember why—to run his fingers through Clarke’s tangled waves.

She lifted her head and looked at him sleepily.  “Hey,” he said softly.

Clarke’s eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus on him.  “You’re awake?” she croaked. 

“Yeah.”  His fingers caught on a knot and he fiddled with it until she jerked her head away from him.

“Bellamy Blake, you  _complete ass_ ,” she hissed.  Clarke pushed back from his bed and stood, crossing her arms.  “This was not what we agreed to.  You were supposed to sneak into Mount Weather, not get yourself  _captured_.  Do you have any idea what we went through to get you back?”

Bellamy had a hazy memory of Clarke bursting through the dungeon door, her hair swirling around her like a halo, but he’d been pretty drugged at the time (Doctor Sadist had gotten sick of Bellamy trying to headbutt her every time she came close to him, apparently) so he wasn’t sure what was real and what was a hallucination.   He opened his mouth to protest but Clarke cut him off.

“You almost died, Bellamy.  You almost  _died_ ,”  her voice nearly cracked on the last word and for a second, she looked more panicked than angry.  “You’re on bed rest until someone clears you,” she said, much more in control.  “So don’t you dare leave this room.”  And with that, Clarke spun on her heel and left him behind, thoroughly confused.

 

Octavia came running in next, throwing her arms around him, completely heedless of the various bandages and wounds littering his body.  Lincoln followed on her heels, albeit far more slowly.  O babbled excitedly for awhile—everyone was out of Mount Weather and more or less in good shape, it seemed, although the fight with Mount Weather had been fierce—but an offhand mention of Clarke made Bellamy break in.  “How—how is she?” he asked as casually as possible.  Clarke’s mixture of fury and fear (she’d tried to hide the fear behind the fury but at this point Bellamy could read his princess like a book, or at least he used to) had caught him off guard.

“Who, Clarke?  Oh, she’s fine.  Got grazed by a bullet when we were leaving Mount Weather, but it’d take more than that to slow her down,” Octavia said with a wave of her hand.  “Anyway, Monty’s already working on a new still, and—“

“Why was she here?” Bellamy interrupted.  From the way Octavia was talking, it sounded like Camp Jaha had been in a state of constant uproar for a few days, and it wasn’t like Clarke to be sleeping when she was needed elsewhere.

“Here?  You mean, why was she with you?”  Octavia threw a look over her shoulder to Lincoln, who raised his eyebrows and one shoulder in a silent conversation.  Octavia turned back to Bellamy.  “She, um, well, first of all, she like, singlehandedly pulled you out of Mount Weather.  She was bleeding, you were bleeding—it was kind of a mess.  And then it took you a little longer to stabilize than anyone else, and she, um, she—“  Octavia broke off and looked to Lincoln for help.

“She wanted to make sure you came out of it okay,” Lincoln supplied.

Octavia snorted.  “Yeah, and one time her mom tried to convince her to leave and she, like  _growled_.”  She smiled softly at him.   “She was worried about you, Bell.  We all were.  It’s good to have you back.”

Jackson poked his head in through the tarp serving as a door to Bellamy’s room.  “He needs his rest, guys—time to go,” he said kindly.  Octavia kissed Bellamy’s cheek and Lincoln laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and they left, leaving Bellamy to ponder this turn of events.

The morning after Finn’s death, Bellamy had been sure he knew where he stood with Clarke.  “I can’t lose you too,” she’d said, and he understood.  And then he watched Gustus and Lexa and suddenly,  _he understood._   He knew that Gustus had risked his life for the hope of protecting Lexa because Bellamy would have done the same for Clarke without a second thought.  He loved her and she loved him, he thought, and maybe they had some untangling to do, but he and Clarke—that was real.  But then not twenty-four hours later she informed him he would be infiltrating Mount Weather, her jaw set as she declared “I was being weak,” when he reminded her of her earlier refusal.  They way she’d looked at him then was like she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t figure out what it was, not over the pain of his heart cracking inside his chest.

Then came the disaster that was Mount Weather, capped off with his hazy memories of Clarke unstrapping him from the gurney, tears running down her face.  And now he was back in Camp Jaha, faced with her fury, and Bellamy couldn’t help but feel like there was a puzzle piece missing.  Something happened that day Gustus died, something that changed her, and Bellamy knew he wouldn’t understand Clarke the way he used to until he learned what it was.

He was stuck in med bay for another full day before they let him leave.  Bellamy had had a steady stream of visitors—Monty, Jasper, Miller, and Monroe—but Raven was with him when Abby Griffin stopped by with a set of crutches.  A spasm of anger crossed Raven’s face at the sight of the crutches and she looked determindedly away as Abby instructed Bellamy to use them for a full week, no exceptions.  Raven walked with him out of the med bay, matching his slow, unsteady pace.  Bellamy stopped when he got to the center of camp, his gaze drifting over to Clarke’s tent.

Raven snorted angrily.  “Your tent’s this way, genius.”  Bellamy looked at her pleadingly and her face softened a little.  “She barely spoke, you know.  After Lincoln came back to tell us you were captured.  She made Lexa move up the rescue operation by three days too.  She’s terrifying when she’s like that, so do us all a favor and don’t get your dumb ass captured again, all right?” 

“Thanks,” he said gently.  Balancing on his good leg he reached out and touched her shoulder.  Raven’s eyes fluttered closed for just a moment and she put her hand over his in a silent acknowledgement. 

But then she pulled away and rolled her eyes.  “She’s off today and Abby’ll be in med bay until sundown.  Go.  Don’t make me say it twice,” she ordered and stalked off.

Bellamy made his way to Clarke’s tent and ducked inside.  She was sorting a stack of clothes with unusual force.  She turned and scoffed angrily when she saw him, so Bellamy crutched toward the stack of furs she was using as a bed and lowered himself down.  “We gonna talk about this?” he asked sternly.  Bellamy was no stranger to misplaced anger, but he thought she could at  _least_  seem happy to see him up and about.

“No,” she bit out through a clenched jaw.  “And I don’t want to see you off those crutches for at least a week.”

“You don’t give me orders,” he replied, and at least  _that_  got her attention.

Clarke sat back on her heels and dug her palms into her eyes in frustration.  “God, Bellamy.  Just—god, I almost lost you, okay?  I almost lost you.”

“You knew that was a possibility when you told me to go in.  I thought you said being afraid of losing me was just you being weak.”  He tried to keep the anger out of his voice but he failed, because she went from  _I can’t lose you_  to  _I was being weak_  to barely even looking at him and he wanted to know  _why_ , dammit.  What changed that day—what made Clarke shut him out?  And why— _why_ —did that hurt so much?

“It was.”

“Then why are you so pissed?”

Clarke looked straight at him, her eyes burning.  Bellamy saw the evidence of countless sleepless nights, he saw her fear and her rage, and he saw endless, endless sadness.  “Because I’m weak,” she said flatly.  “I’m weak.  I told myself I couldn’t afford to care and I sent you off and  _you almost died_  and it was my fault.  And the second I found out you were captured I realized that I  _am_  weak because I couldn’t pretend not to care, so I risked everyone’s life to get you back because  _I. am. weak.”_   She wiped away an angry tear that escaped down her cheek.  “So don’t you dare injure yourself by not using those damn crutches.”

Bellamy reached out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to move toward him on her knees.  He cupped her cheek with his hand and brushed away another tear with his thumb, trying to figure out a way to tell her it was okay—that he wasn’t going anywhere, that she saved him and he knew what that meant.  But then she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and he knew she understood.  Clarke sank into the furs next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.  “I can’t lose you,” she said again, and this time Bellamy knew it meant  _I love you_.

“You won’t,” he said back, but what he meant was  _I love you too_.


	38. Bra fitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: bellarke, bra fitting turned to heavy flirting with a flustered bellamy.

Clarke pursed her lips and looked at herself critically in the mirror.  She slid her thumbs into the cups of her new lace bra and readjusted it.  She turned to the side, tipped her head, and frowned again.  This was supposed to be a present to herself, a little pick-me-up after her third (and final) break up with Lexa.  She’d gone through the usual steps–sitting on the couch with Octavia watching sappy movies, getting her hair cut and dying the ends pink (that washed out before her residency started, thank god–she’d regretted it within a few hours, even though Raven assured her it looked hot), and now she was into the “buying new lingerie” stage of post-break up stereotypes.  This one was a lilac push-up that did great things to her boobs, but the straps sat a little too far out on her shoulders and she was worried that the combination of underwire and lace would poke and scratch her over time.

The front door opened and closed and she heard Octavia rustling around in the living room.  Since the whole “sexy-new-underwear” thing was all her idea, Clarke figured she might be able to help her decide.  She left her room in just her jeans and bra, padding barefoot down the hall.  “Hey, what do you think of this one?  I’m not sure it’s worth the hassle,” she called as she rounded the corner and squawked in surprise, because that was definitely not Octavia.

“Oh holy shit,” Bellamy swore and spun around to face the wall.

“Where’s Octavia?”

“She’s–uh–she’s–she’s still at work,” Bellamy stuttered.  His ears turned a dark red and he kept his back to her.

“And you’re here…because?”  Part of Clarke’s brain knew she should go get a shirt, but another part of her brain was far too entranced with this new, flustered Bellamy and she wanted to see how far she could take it.

Because Bellamy was smooth.  Bellamy picked up girls at bars without even trying.  Bellamy smiled and women and men alike melted.  And Bellamy was  _blushing_.

“O sent me over because–because–”

“Because?” she prompted, struggling not to smile.

“Jesus, can’t you go put a shirt on before subjecting me to the Spanish Inquisition?”

Clarke stopped fighting the smile entirely.  “Pretty sure you’ve seen a woman in her bra before.”

Bellamy snorted.  “Not you.  Could you go put a shirt on?”

“What if I say no?”  She let her voice drop a little, just to see how he’d react.

“Then I’d have to assume you want me to see you with your shirt off,” he replied, matching her tone.  

Even before Lexa, there’d always been something between them.  Some sort of tension, some sort of lingering, unresolved need.  Now was as good a time as any to figure out where it went, Clarke supposed.  She was feeling a little bit reckless, but not destructive-reckless.  Just…adventurous.

“In that case, no.”

“No, you don’t want me to see you with your shirt off?” Bellamy asked, still facing the wall.

“No, I’m not going to go put a shirt on.”

Clarke saw the moment her words sank in, because his head snapped up and he curled his hands into fists.  Slowly, he turned, his eyes raking over her.  “You wanted an…opinion?”  He dropped his gaze to her chest and Clarke felt her own blush start to rise.

“I do.  I like it, but…” Finishing her sentences was much harder with him looking at her like that.

“But?”  Bellamy stepped closer to her, close enough to touch her if he just lifted his hands.  They stayed at his sides, though.

Clarke tossed her hair back and watched as his eyes followed the movement.  “But the straps don’t sit quite right.”

“Hmm,” he said and trailed his fingers across her collarbone to the edge of the strap.  Goosebumps followed in their wake.  “I take it you’re worried it’ll…fall?”  He nudged the strap and it slipped off her shoulder.

Clarke closed her eyes, because if she looked at him for another second she’d combust.  She nodded and Bellamy’s hand came to rest on her waist.  The other one curved around her jaw, so lightly it was hard to believe it was even there.  When she opened her eyes he was just millimeters away, his breath fanning her skin.  She arched her neck, just slightly, so her lips could brush against his.

His tongue slipped into her mouth and his grip on her waist tightened, and she forgot what they were talking about.


	39. Groundhog day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character death warning, sort of.

I

Clarke stares into Wallace’s cold, pale eyes and lowers her gun.  She sees the pain and resignation in his eyes and they watch on the monitors as their friends and family die, but the alternative is becoming a monster beyond all comprehension.

She feels powerless as her mother fades away and when Emerson and his men break down the door, all she can do is weep.

They strap Bellamy down next and his eyes never leave hers until they go cold and blank, and Clarke knows then her conscience wasn’t worth this.

She’s almost grateful when they take her next.

II

She convinces Lexa not to trust Emerson and together, they storm the Mountain.

Lexa falls first, bullets strafing across her chest so quickly she’s crumpling before Clarke even knows what’s happening.

All around her is chaos and death and the rescue mission seems to fall to pieces in front of her very eyes.  People are dying everywhere–Mountain Men, Grounders, and Sky People alike.  It’s a massacre, not a battle, and the blood is on her hands.

There are a few survivors, but not many.  Not what she hoped for.

She finds Bellamy, sprawled across a deserted corridor in a pool of his own blood.

His blood is on her hands too.

III

It’s not what she wants.

She doesn’t want their deaths haunting her, and she doesn’t want anyone else to bear the responsibility.  She wants to scream for Monty to leave, for Bellamy to turn and walk away.  They shouldn’t have to shoulder this with her, because in the end it comes down to her.

It always does.  It always comes down to her, and even though she hates it she hates the idea that the others will feel it too.  Part of her wants to make Bellamy lift his hand from hers but in the end she lets him help her become a monster.

They start walking home slowly and he rests his hand between her shoulder blades, and she knows that if she stays a second longer she will break and she won’t be able to put herself back together.

They stand outside the gates and she breaks him because it’s the only way she can stay whole.

It’s not what she wants.


	40. Bus Buddies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: I see you on the bus everyday, we smile at each other and I really wanna talk to you but I'm too shy to actually make conversation so please talk to me (preferably Bellamy being the shy one BC how cute would that be).

Clarke noticed him her first week of work.  He didn’t work at the hospital but he took the same express bus as her, a messenger bag slung across his shoulder.  He got off one stop earlier than she did when they arrived on the university campus but he was always on the bus before her in the mornings, which meant he lived uptown and whatever he did, it was in the vicinity of the university library.

He was handsome, with olive skin and freckles and dark, curly hair.  He was usually reading, scribbling notes in the margins occasionally.   He would stand up and offer his seat the second the bus filled up and once she saw him smile and wave to a baby in a stroller.

She caught his eye the fourth morning they rode the bus together and he smiled almost shyly.  On Friday of the second week, she ended up in the seat next to him.  He gave her a polite nod of acknowledgment and adjusted his legs so he wouldn’t take up too much space.  She managed to get a peek at the book he was reading that day ( _The Other Greeks_ , and judging by his noises of frustration and head shaking, he didn’t like it very much) and after that day they tended to gravitate toward each other.  He would scoot over automatically when she got on and she appreciated that he courteously gave her space.

The only thing she  _didn’t_  like was that he didn’t talk to her.  He’d nod, smile, and on more than one occasion she felt him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, an action that seemed to be accompanied by his ears turning dark red.  Clarke knew it was up to her to make the first move, but she was worried she was misreading his signs and she didn’t want to lose her bus-buddy.  She didn’t want to go back to sitting by herself and hoping whoever sat next to her wouldn’t have a chronic case of balls-too-big-to-sit-normally or even worse, a double whammy of BO and no sense of personal space.

But after a month of nods, smiles, and covert glances, Clarke gave in.  “I’m Clarke,” she told him one morning while other commuters filed on.

“Bellamy,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“I’m a resident at the university hospital,” she offered, hoping he’d take the hint and keep the conversation going.

“I figured.  These are kind of a tip off,” he said and tugged gently on the sleeve of her scrubs.

“Oh, um, right,” she stammered and felt the blood rise to her cheeks.

He gave her a tiny wink that did nothing to help her blushing situation.  “I’m a graduate student.  Ancient History.”  He looked down at his knees.  “I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted to talk to you for awhile, but I didn’t want to be that creepy dude on the bus, you know?”

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly.  “You wouldn’t have been,” she promised him.  “My shift is over at six–would you…would you want to get drinks?”

Bellamy’s blush started to rival hers.  “My last seminar ends at six-thirty.  Is that okay?”

“Indra’s?” she said hopefully.

“Indra’s, he confirmed, and as the bus pulled up to his usual stop he stood up.  “It’s a date.”


	41. Lighthouse (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murphy x Harper. Bellarke is in part II.

Murphy had been meaning to leave for days when Clarke showed up, her cheeks hollow and her eyes haunted.  She kicked his door open, scaring the bejeezus out of him, and froze on the doorstep.  “Murphy?” she asked, her brow knitted and her gun still pointed at him.

“Clarke?”

They stared at each other for half a dozen heartbeats before she lowered her weapon.  “This is where you’ve been?  Where’s Jaha?  Where’s everyone else?”

“Jaha…he’s around.  Everyone else either split or died in various unpleasant ways.  Who’s with you?”

“No one,” Clarke said tightly and closed the door behind her.  “What is this place?”

“No one?  You mean to tell me Bellamy Blake let his princess wander off on her own?  We’re at least a week from Camp Jaha.  Is he dead or something?”

“Bellamy’s fine.  I just had to get away.  For…for awhile.  Where are we?”

“The promised land, according to Jaha.  Who by the way has completely lost it.”  Clarke started pacing around the lighthouse, trailing her fingers over everything.  Murphy remembered how he felt when he first arrived–like he was hallucinating.  He hoped he hadn’t looked as dumb as she did.  “I’m sort of glad you’re here though, because we need to do something about our illustrious former chancellor.”

Clarke was standing in front of the television, stroking the couch like she didn’t believe it was real.  “What about him?”

“There’s a house here, maybe fifteen minutes away.  He’s been there for weeks, but when I go up he gets all squirrelly and refuses to even let me in the door.  It’s a mansion, by the way, nothing like this little place, so big surprise he took it for himself.  But the other day–he was talking to someone.  A woman.  They have a plan, and I think it involves a bomb.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Clarke frowned.

“You haven’t met the new and improved Jaha, complete with delusions of prophecy.  I think it’s bad.”

Clarke swallowed hard but didn’t look up.  “So what were you going to do?”

“Tell someone?”

“When were you planning on letting us know?  You said this has been going on for weeks?”

Murphy shifted uncomfortably.  The truth was, he didn’t want to leave.  For the first time in his pathetic existence, he had enough food.  Unlimited showers.  Solitude.  Safety.  You could never be alone on the Ark, even when you were alone.  And he was alone outside the dropship, but those days were full of fear and short naps against boulders that left him more tired than refreshed and constant, aching hunger.  When he wasn’t being tortured by the grounders, that is.  

Possible nuclear annihilation aside, this lighthouse was the best place he’d ever lived.  Plus, leaving on his own meant navigating the minefield and woods on his own and unlike some of the other delinquents and their martyr complexes, Murphy actually wanted to survive.  “I wasn’t sure I could make it back in one piece,” he said finally.  “By the way, how did you get through the minefield on your own?”

“Minefield?”  Clarke looked puzzled.  “I followed the old highway.  It leads straight here.”

Of fucking course.  Their whole journey could have been avoided if they just  _took the road_.  Murphy added “poor navigation” to his mental list of Jaha’s crimes.  Murphy looked at Clarke–really looked–and no matter how hard she tried to cover it up, something was wrong.  Seriously, seriously wrong.  He sighed.  “Draw me a map.  I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

**

Clarke’s route back to the fallen Ark still took almost a week for Murphy to traverse.  He’d showed her how to work everything in the lighthouse and promised to be back with reinforcements as soon as he could.  She seemed uncertain whenever he mentioned coming back but listened to his instructions on how to work the shower all the same.

He saw the light reflecting off the Ark before he saw the Ark itself and for a few minutes, he pondered going back to the lighthouse.  He could tell Clarke no one believed him and let her deal with it, but instead he walked up to the gates.

Predictably, Bellamy left within the hour.  He swiped a motorcycle Reyes had fixed up and tore off toward his princess.  The rest of the “Talk Jaha Down From Starting the Next Apocalypse Because Apparently One Wasn’t Enough” party assembled a little more slowly, but by the next morning Murphy was headed back to the lighthouse, this time with three guards and two delinquents in tow.  One of the delinquents was a redheaded boy whose name Murphy never bothered to learn.

The other was Harper.

He couldn’t believe it when she volunteered.   _Harper_.  She was soft and sweet, not a warrior. But then she grabbed a rifle from the armory and he realized that Harper wasn’t the girl from the dropship anymore.  She was harder around the edges, and as they trekked through the forest her jaw took on a determined set.  “What happened?” he asked one morning as the sunrise turned the forest a brilliant green.  (Earth would be beautiful if it stopped trying to kill him every couple weeks.)  “To all of you.  What happened in the mountain?”

“They wanted our bone marrow.  So they strapped me down and drilled into me, over and over again.”

“Where are the Mountain Men now?”

“Dead.  Clarke and Bellamy’s call.  That’s why she left.”

Murphy cast a sidelong look at her.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For you,” he said softly.

Harper cut her eyes at him, evaluating.  She was checking to see if he was mocking her and he kept his gaze fixed on the trees, ashamed.  He deserved it, he supposed.  “Thanks, John,” she said quietly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Hiding his own smile suddenly became hard to do.


	42. Lighthouse (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From maimatkes prompt: OK, so, Bellarke and Murphy's bachelor pad/lighthouse. Clarke can wander in first and Bellamy gets there months later, or Murphy goes back to camp to tell them about Jaha & the lady in red, whatever you want. I just want them in there :D Bonus point for Bellamy and the bike. (Since Bob said he wanted a bike in S3 I am obsessed.)

The roar of an engine broke Clarke’s focus and she missed her shot.  “Dammit,” she mumbled as the red striped ball bounced off the corner, narrowly missing the pocket.  She grabbed her gun and eased the door open, peeking out into the bright morning sun.  Murphy had only been gone ten days and she wasn’t expecting anyone for at least another four.

_Ten days of solitude and every day that passed she asked herself if she could stay.  When she left Camp Jaha she didn’t know how long she wanted to be away from everyone, but it had been hardly a month and she knew that wasn’t long enough.  She still didn’t think she could see their judgment–or worse, their gratitude–and not collapse in on herself.  The first few nights in the woods she’d stuff her fists in her mouth and scream until she was hoarse because the pain inside of her would kill her unless she let it out.  She’d moved past that now, but she still wasn’t sure she could face the people she’d saved._

_Every morning her first instinct was to run, but every morning she convinced herself to stay.  She’d told Murphy she would stay, and stay she did.  She walked to the house every afternoon to talk to Jaha, but every door and window was closed and locked and sometimes she could hear him murmuring to someone but couldn’t make out the words.  So she would trudge back to the lighthouse and keep herself busy until darkness fell, when she would crawl back into bed and make herself promise she wouldn’t run tomorrow, either._

But she’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, all sharp shoulders and soft curls.  And he was bellowing her name as he strode toward the lighthouse.  She opened the door wider and tucked the gun back in her waistband as he saw her.  He never broke his stride and was on her in seconds, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

It took a moment for her to react, still stunned by his sudden appearance.  He pulled back and kept his hands on her shoulders as he examined her face.  “Don’t,” he said fiercely.  “Don’t–just don’t.”

Her hand brushed a curl back from his forehead of its own accord.  “Don’t what?” she whispered, because  _Bellamy_  was here, looking at her so intently she couldn’t bear to move.

“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” he rasped, pulling her back against him.  She was mildly surprised that after almost a month of solitude she melted against him like she’d only left the day before, but then again it was Bellamy.  He was the exception to her every rule so she breathed him in and listened to the steady thump of his heart under her ear.


	43. Whoops!Sex (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> labonsoirfemme requested some “whoops!sex." Canon-verse at some indeterminate time in the future.

Clarke nuzzled Monty’s cheek and giggled.  “You really outdid yourself this time,” she told him, because the moonshine was making her bubbly and giddy.  Moonshine and peace were a heady combination and for the first time in months (maybe years) Clarke was relaxed.  Monty slung his arm around her waist and together, they stumbled toward the bonfire.

Miller called Monty’s name and he spun around without letting go of Clarke and she tripped, falling to the ground with a joyful shriek and pulling Monty with her.  They laid on the frost-hard ground together in a tangle of limbs, unable to stop laughing.  Monty went to stand and elbowed her in the head, which led to a fresh round of giggles as he collapsed over her legs.

Miller strode over and helped Monty up, smothering a smile and shaking his head while Clarke sprawled out on her back.  “This one’s your problem,” he called over her head.

Bellamy’s face loomed over her with a lopsided grin.  “What’s gotten into you?”

Clarke scrunched up her face.  “‘m drunk.”

“I see that,” Bellamy replied with a laugh.  He held out a hand and pulled her up so quickly the stars over her head started to spin and she fell against him heavily.  Bellamy stumbled back a few steps and put his hands on her shoulders.  “’m drunk too,” he said as she slid her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

“You smell good,” Clarke observed.

“You too,” Bellamy mumbled, his nose tucked into her hair.

All it took was a tip of the chin.  She looked up and he looked down and they were kissing.  He tasted like moonshine, sharp and intoxicating, and she giggled.  “What?” he asked against her lips.

“We’re kissing,” she giggled back.  “Us.”

Bellamy’s laughter was sweet in her mouth.  “Us,” he confirmed and together they wobbled toward her cabin, their kisses getting increasingly sloppy.  Clarke tripped over her satchel and landed hard on her cot while Bellamy shucked his clothes and fell on top of her.

“Oof, you’re heavy,” she whined.

“You like it,” was his eloquent response as he settled into the cradle of her hips and kissed her neck.

Clarke wound her fingers into his hair and tugged his head up.  “Maybe,” she teased with mock-narrowed eyes, but then he was kissing her again and slowly, moans replaced their laughter and gasps took the place of smiles.

Maybe it should have been awkward, but instead it felt right.  Good.  Natural.  He was her partner, her right hand, and now he was inside of her and her nails were dragging down his back and Clarke didn’t have a care in the world.  

By the time she was resting with her head over his heart the world had become a little sharper, her senses a little less dulled.  Now was when the regret should hit but instead she just felt content.  Sated.  At ease.  Like being with Bellamy was right, like they fit together without even trying.  “I should probably go,” he whispered with his fingers drawing patterns on her bare back.  “People will talk.”

Clarke whined but sat up and watched him get dressed.  “We’re running low on willow bark, by the way.”

Bellamy nodded and tied his boots as he perched on the edge of her cot.  “I’ll make sure Monroe gets some when she takes out the hunting party tomorrow,” he assured her.  “And Kane wants us both at the council meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

Clarke blew some strands of hair off her face and flopped back against her pillow.  “I’ll be there.”

Bellamy gave her another lopsided smile and brushed a kiss to her forehead.  “See you tomorrow.”

“You too,” she murmured and let him pull the furs up to her shoulders.  She snuggled down and breathed in his lingering scent as she let herself drift off to sleep.

She was  _happy_.


	44. Whoops!Sex (II)

Raven leaned back in her chair while Clarke finished her drink.  The lights would be going off soon, to preserve their limited power, but Clarke liked her ritual drinks with Raven at the end of the day and she wasn’t quite ready to leave.  The moonshine burned in her chest pleasantly, but unlike two nights before the stars weren’t spinning and the ground seemed more steady.

Raven glanced off to the left and smirked.  “So have you two figured it out?”

Clarke followed her gaze to where Bellamy stood, looking uncertainly at them.  “Figured what out?”

Raven made an annoyed sound.  “What the whole ‘now we’re banging’ thing means?” Clarke’s eyes went wide and Raven cackled.  “Come over here, lover boy.  I’m out,” she yelled toward Bellamy, but Clarke shot her a dirty look and walked over to him instead.  Raven strode past, still laughing to herself.

She stood in front of Bellamy for the first time in two days–for the first time since he was inside of her, for the first time since they’d gone from what they were before to what they were now.  He’d been pulled out on Monroe’s hunting trip and then got delayed outside the gates thanks to a thunderstorm, and she hadn’t seen him since.

It should probably be awkward between them, but just like that night, she felt calm.  “Hey,” she said once Raven was a safe distance away.

“Hey,” he said back with a smile that stirred something deep inside her.  When she left Raven, she intended to talk to him, but now she was smiling at him like a fool and suddenly, talking didn’t seem necessary.  She tangled their fingers together and gave his arm a gentle tug.

Bellamy fell into step beside her as they headed for her cabin.  “So.  Us,” he said as she shouldered the door open.

“Yeah.  Us.”  Clarke dropped his hand long enough to light her lamp and then spun to face him, taking his hands again.  She wasn’t sure how to explain her certainty, but she knew, down in her bones, that he was Bellamy and she was Clarke and they didn’t need anything more than that.

“I like us,” Bellamy said and brought his hand up to cup her cheek.

“I like us too,” she echoed and rolled onto her toes to kiss him.

Just like before, it was simple.  They knew each other better than anyone else on the planet and this was no different, from the twist of her hips to his searching hands that stole the breath from her lungs.  They didn’t need words, they just needed each other.

Later, Clarke tucked her head under his arm and threw her leg over his hips.  “Everyone knows,” she mumbled against his skin.

“Yeah, they do.  Do you mind?”

Clarke pressed an open mouth kiss to his collarbone.  “Not really.  You?”

He placed one finger under her chin and tipped it up.  “Not at all,” he said, and kissed her again.


	45. First Responder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: Bellamy is a first responder at a car crash, which turns out to be Clarke and her dad. Bonus if they know each other already
> 
> To anon: THANKS, SATAN. To everyone else: Wow, I’m sorry about this. Canonical character death warning.

Bellamy had gotten used to tragedy.  It was part and parcel of being an EMT–you saw people broken and crushed, and you saw families desperately trying hold themselves together as their worst nightmares came true.  He’d learned to tune out the destruction and tried to save those he could.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Clarke Griffin, pale and bleeding from her forehead, crouched over her father’s body.  Jake was gone–Bellamy knew that the second he saw him on the ground.  Clarke was in med school and should have known too, but Bellamy knew all too well the power of denial when you’re in the midst of unknowable grief.  After Aurora died he spent weeks telling himself that it was a mistake, that she’d be in her sewing room, humming softly, and not in the ground three miles away.  “I need someone to put pressure on the wound,” she yelled frantically, her eyes crazed.  She didn’t even seem to recognize Bellamy, even though she’d spent every Friday night of high school at his house, giggling with Octavia and her friends.

“Clarke,” he said gently, but she didn’t hear him, her hands still fluttering over her father’s lifeless body.  “He’s gone.”  He put a hand on her shoulder and she froze.

“No, he’s not.  Get me a bandage,” she snapped.

“Clarke,” he said again.  “It’s over.”

He never thought he would see Clarke Griffin crumple.  She was too strong, too steely, too capable.  But crumple she did, falling to her knees and sobbing.  Bellamy did the only thing he could do and gathered her in his arms, holding her while she cried.  It broke his heart to see her like that, and his helplessness made the pain worse.  

He was still holding her when they came to take Jake’s body away.


	46. Indra's Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleedtoloveher asked for fluff + teenagers. We’re just going to pretend they’re only a year apart, okay?

“Everyone’s staring,” Bellamy mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Probably because you got a scoop of chocolate in a dish like a grandpa,” Clarke retorted.

“Well you’re going to drive me into bankruptcy if you keep ordering those massive banana splits,” he threw back with a smile.  “And I don’t think it’s the ice cream they’re staring at.”

To be fair to the other patrons of Indra’s Ice Cream, (a fine, friendly establishment) the sight of Clarke and Bellamy in public and  _not_  yelling at each other was a sight in an of itself.  The fact that they were smiling privately at each other and it appeared that Bellamy had  _winked_  at her was news worthy of a breaking news bulletin, because Senior Class President Bellamy and Junior Class President Clarke had never, in the history of Arcadia High, done anything together that didn’t involve at least three death threats and two ultimatums.

Clarke took a giant bite of her sundae and grinned, an action that prompted Monroe to pull out her phone and take a picture.  Bellamy kicked Clarke’s foot playfully under the table and Jasper squeaked out loud.  “This has to be a prank,” Murphy hissed to Harper, who frowned at him.

“Be nice,” she admonished, her own sundae turning into a puddle, forgotten.

“They’re still staring,” Bellamy said again, licking his spoon clean.

Clarke reached across the formica table and tangled their fingers together, an action that made Miller whisper-shout  _what the hell_  and Monty’s jaw drop open.

“Let them stare,” she said with another secret smile.


	47. Nanny!Bellamy (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary82 asked for Bellarke with Clarke as a single mother and Bellamy as the nanny (or manny I guess?) and labonsoirfemme asked: Bellarke + babies! (doesn’t have to be their own, tho.) (I just have A Thing for Bellamy and kids.)
> 
> Lord knows I have a thing for Bellamy and kids too, so here we go!

Clarke tried to do it all.  She really did.  She even moved in with her mother during her ninth month of pregnancy and stayed until Holly was six months old so she would have an extra set of hands, but Clarke and Abby worked best when they had a little distance between them, so Clarke signed a new lease and moved out.

But the hospital day care only helped so much.  There were still days when Holly ran a temp and had to stay home, and Clarke was running out of personal days.  Her mother did her best to help out, but Abby was chief of surgery across town and that didn’t make for a very flexible schedule either.  Finn’s parents lived on the other side of the country, and while they agreed to fly out for major holidays, dealing with their dead-son’s-unknowing-mistress-turned-mother-of-his-child made them fairly uncomfortable.  

Octavia offered the solution while supervising Clarke’s patient.  He was a drunk driver who ran into a tree and was technically under arrest, but for the moment he was sleeping it off in a neck brace.  Clarke was flipping through his chart when Octavia frowned at her.  “You have a kid, right?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Clarke replied absently.  “Wait, how did you know?”  She’d met Octavia a few times, but their friendship was pretty superficial.

“One of the nurses mentioned it.  She said you were a single mom with a little girl at home.”

“Yup–her name’s Holly.  She’s nine months now.”

“And the dad…?”

“Died.  Before she was born,” Clarke said without looking at her. She hated the looks of pity that always followed.

“So you probably need help.  With the baby,” Octavia mused.

“You offering?”

“Not me.  My brother.  He’s adjuncting at the university and the pay is crap, but his schedule is pretty flexible when he isn’t teaching.”

“Your brother,”  Clarke said flatly.

Octavia shrugged.  “He basically raised me and he’s really good with kids.  He could use the money and you could use the help.  Think about it, is all I’m saying.”

Clarke thought for a moment and then nodded.  “I’ll meet him and let you know,” she agreed, because she was exhausted and could afford an extra set of hands.

That was how Bellamy came into her life–as a business arrangement, as an extra set of hands so Holly could stay home some days while Clarke went to the hospital.  But slowly, he started becoming more.  

First, it was the way she would hear him talking to Holly when she came home–sometimes he was cooing nonsense and making her giggle, and other times he was practicing his lectures, explaining ancient battles and politics.  ( _She pays more attention than my freshman do_ , he told her ruefully the first time she caught him.   _And I’m slightly less offended when she falls asleep_.)

Then it was the way Holly clung to him when she was sleepy, burying her face in the crook of his neck.  Holly never knew her father, and even though she didn’t lack for male role models (Wells and Monty were locked in a battle to the death over “who would be a better adopted uncle”) there was something about the way she took to Bellamy.  She trusted him, just like Clarke did.

Then Clarke had a few surgeries run late and Bellamy stayed, sleeping in her guest bedroom and making her coffee in the morning.  It confused her, how natural it felt to come downstairs to find Bellamy sipping coffee and stealing fistfulls of cheerios from the tray on Holly’s high chair.  She was paying him to be there, of course, but she  _wasn’t_  paying him to smile at her like that.

It all came out when Bellamy told her he was going to be working at the university full time next year and her heart sank into her stomach.  He smiled sadly.  “But if it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay in Holly’s life.  I know what it’s like to grow up without a dad–it’s hard, and I’ve come to really like the little demon over the past year.”

Clarke blinked back her tears.  “I’d like that,” she admitted.

“I’d like–I’d like to stay in your life too,” he said quietly.

“I’d like that too,” Clarke said, a slow smile spreading across her face.


	48. Nanny!Bellamy (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Any possibility of more Nanny Bellamy? Feel free to take it where you want, but I imagined a moment where they maybe don't actually get together for a while, then he ends up babysitting for her one night when she goes on a date and Bellamy is finally pushed to make his move (because I like imagining jealous, heat of the moment Bellamy). Just an idea! :)
> 
> I had to tweak it a little since in part one he *hasn’t* made a move yet, but I hope you like it anyway!

Clarke usually resisted blind dates.  Holly was a useful excuse, since most guys weren’t super psyched about dating a single mom, but Harper had somehow found the one guy in the city who was okay with it.  Clarke wanted to say no, but “I have a crush on my nanny” sounded pathetic, not to mention disastrous.  Holly was young enough that she wouldn’t remember Bellamy if things blew up, but he was so good with her she just couldn’t bring herself to risk it.

She agreed to let Harper set something up the morning after Bellamy had stayed over.  Clarke had been at the hospital until midnight and Bellamy was asleep in the guest room when she came home, but that morning he was up with Holly by the time she came downstairs and it was so normal, so domestic, her heart felt like it might break.  She’d been doing everything alone for so long she forgot what it was like to have a partner.  Bellamy poured her coffee and promised to take Holly to the park and it took all her willpower not to kiss him goodbye.  So she drove straight to the hospital and found Harper to give her the go ahead, because she would never have that family if she didn’t get herself out there.  And she couldn’t let herself fall in love with Bellamy, because her daughter needed him and Clarke wasn’t about to mess that up.

But now, driving home from what was a perfectly pleasant (if bland) first date, she felt worse than ever.  It didn’t get off to a very auspicious start, beginning with when she asked Bellamy if he could stay late on Friday.   _I have a date_ , she said casually.   _But if you’re busy, I’ll ask Monty or Wells to stay with her._

Bellamy’s eyes were hard when he said he could stay, as long as she didn’t mind if he had a beer or two while grading after Holly went down for the night.  Clarke avoided his gaze and told him it would be fine, and told herself that she was imagining the way a muscle in his jaw started ticking.

The date itself was a blur of small talk and the usual awkward first date questions, while Clarke itched to be at home, reading a book to Holly.  The fact that Bellamy insisted on being in her daydreams, loading the dishwasher while Clarke handled bedtime, was purely coincidence.  She blinked back tears as she sat in her driveway, because the lies she was telling herself had started to wear thin.

Clarke let herself in through the side door and found Bellamy on the couch with a stack of papers in front of him.  “Did you have a nice time?” he asked tightly.

“Nice enough,” Clarke admitted.  “Not really second date material though.”

“Good,” Bellamy huffed, shuffling the papers into his messenger back.

“What was that?” Clarke asked.   _Please.  Please.  Please_ , she thought, not sure if she wanted him to  _just say it_ or _just leave_ , because both possibilities were equally terrifying.

Bellamy stood and raked his gaze over her.  “Nothing.  I’ll be here Monday morning,” he replied and stalked out, leaving her alone in her dark, empty house.


	49. Nanny!Bellamy (III)

Bellamy laced his fingers through Clarke’s and smiled at her from across the table.  She looked down, not quite able to meet his gaze.  It was too much–too intense.  She probably should have seen it coming, to be perfectly honest.

It had been written on his face ever since her failed blind date.  It was probably written on her face too, seeing as the one time he mentioned meeting a female classmate to work on lectures together Clarke had been struck with a surge of jealousy so strong she wanted to break something.  She’d wanted him for months and he’d wanted her for at least as long, so really, she shouldn’t be so surprised by the way he was looking at her.

But it was still hard, because when Finn died and three weeks later she found out she was pregnant, she’d assumed that her days of frivolous romance were over.  Sitting in a real restaurant with cloth napkins and nary a crying child in sight seemed unimaginable until just a few weeks ago, when Bellamy formally quit working as her nanny.

His thumb ran across her knuckles soothingly and looked like he was about to say something when a crack of thunder sounded outside.  Clarke startled and met Bellamy’s eyes, alarmed.  “Has Monty handled a thunderstorm with her?” he asked, reading her mind.

“Nope.”  Clarke pulled out her phone but she didn’t have any texts from Monty–yet.  Holly and thunderstorms were a potent combination, to say the least.  Bellamy was already waving down the waiter for the check, and within minutes they were darting through the rain to his car as Clarke’s phone blew up with panicked texts from Monty.

_Monty Green_

_9:35pm_

_How is it possible her screams get louder when the thunder crashes?  They’re already earsplitting.  Is there a way to thunder proof your house?_

_Monty Green_

_9:35pm_

_I’m starting to get scared of thunder myself._

_Monty Green_

_9:36pm_

_I hate to cut your date short, but I’ve never seen her meltdown like this._

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:37pm_

_Already on our way.  Just hang in there._

Bellamy tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel while they waited at a red light.  “I’m sorry about this,” she said over the patter of rain.

Bellamy looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  “It’s fine.  Besides, there will be other dates.”

“There will?” she asked, a smile creeping across her face.

Bellamy winked as the light turned green.  “You’d better believe it, princess.”


	50. angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: bellarke + angst (as if you don't already have enough angst I just need more I need all of it)

  
It was such a fucking cliche Clarke almost couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

This was not who she was--Clarke Griffin was an artist who stood on her own two feet.  She’d stopped doing what was expected of her after she lost her father and Wells, when she dropped out of med school to make a living as an artist.  She cut all ties with her mother and struck off on her own, determined to make a go of it without trading on the Griffin family name or money.

Clarke Griffin was not the sort of woman who would fuck her boss.

But here she was, perched on the edge of his enormous desk with her skirt rucked up around her waist and his dark head between her thighs.

(At least he wasn’t married.  That was the one thing separating her current position from a letters-to-penthouse situation.)

The only reason she even applied for the executive assistant gig was because she had to pay rent somehow, and even with three other women splitting a one-bedroom apartment her paintings weren’t making her enough money to cover her share.  So she sent in her resume and after a quick interview with his departing executive assistant to make sure Clarke could handle the “demands” of the job, she got it.

Everyone else in the office seemed impressed that she could handle Bellamy Blake and his famous temper, but Clarke shrugged it off.  His bark was far worse than his bite, although barely a month in she stormed into his office late one night to demand he let her go home at a reasonable hour for once.  They shouted at each other for awhile, but then shouting turned to kissing, which turned into Clarke sitting astride him in his chair, his hands tangled in her hair as they fucked each other into oblivion.

What was supposed to be a one time thing became a regular occurrence and as he nuzzled the top edge of her thigh high stockings (because now she was a  _secretary_  who wore  _thigh highs_  because  _her boss liked it_  and god, she’d be so pissed at herself if she could bring herself to care) she curled her fingers into his hair and tugged him back to where she needed him.  Deep down she knew she needed to end it, because she needed this job and so did he (she saw the checks he wrote every month for his sister and wondered if he even kept any of his salary for himself) and if Kane ever caught them, they were both toast.

Bellamy stood and kissed her, her taste on his lips, and her heart sank and soared at the same time because deep down, she knew she needed to end it.

But deep down, she also knew this was all she ever wanted.


	51. angst II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the anonymous prompt: I don't know if you're taking prompts at the moment, but if you are I would absolutely love a bellarke drabble inspired by the song walk away by the script. (Lyrics: walk away/save yourself from the heartache/go now before it’s too late/but still she stays )

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Bellamy said for the millionth time.

Clarke shifted on the thin industrial carpet to look at him while his fingers danced up and down her spine.  “Do you want to end it?”

“Christ, no,” he murmured and cuffed a hand behind her neck so he could kiss her again.  They both froze as footsteps echoed outside his office, but they soon faded away.  “But we shouldn’t be doing this.   _I_ shouldn’t be doing this.  I’m your boss, for fuck’s sake.”

“So what do you want?” Clarke trailed her finger across his chest

Bellamy’s eyes grew sad.  “I want you to end it.”

“You just said you didn’t want that,” she protested, a lump forming in her throat.  She sat up and reached for her bra where it lay several feet away from his desk.

“No, I said I didn’t want to end this.  And I don’t.  I can’t.  But if you--if you left, I’d understand.”

“And if I don’t? If I refuse to walk away?”  She finished hooking her bra back on and slipped her shirt over her shoulders, doing up the buttons so she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

Bellamy sat up and tipped her chin up with his fingers.  “I can’t--I won’t end this, Clarke.  If it’s going to be over, it will have to be you.  Because I--I’m not strong enough.”

Clarke’s eyes burned.  “Well I’m not going anywhere,” she insisted.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he repeated.

“But we are,” she whispered, kissing him softly.


	52. Boxer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anon prompt: Boxer!Bellamy

“Back again, Blake?”  Clarke asked, snapping her latex gloves on.

 

“Couldn’t stay away,” he flirted as best he could with a swollen orbital socket and blood running down the side of his face.

 

Clarke applied antiseptic to his forehead and picked up the needle.  “Ready?”

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

Clarke injected the anesthetic and picked up her suture kit.  “Does your sister know you’re paying for her school by getting punched in the face every week?” she scolded.

 

“The bruises are kind of hard to miss.  And she trains at my gym, so yeah, she does.”  

 

Clarke focused on her work and ignored the way his breath felt fanning against her arm.   _Doctors do not get crushes on bare-knuckle boxers,_ she admonished herself.  “So what do you do when you aren’t stopping guys' fists with your skull?” she asked, utterly failing at keeping the flirtatious note out of her voice.  She tied off the last stitch and stepped back.

 

“Bartender.  But once O is done with school, I’m going to go back and finish my degree.”

 

“College?” Clarke’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“College.”  Bellamy stood and flashed her a crooked grin.  “Because I’m guessing doctors don’t date boxers, but history teachers might stand a chance.”

 

Clarke flushed and tried to fight her smile.  “Is that so?”

 

“I’m counting on it,” he said with the same grin.  “See you next week, doc.”

 


	53. Cohosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hinundherundweg asked: You write beautifully and I love all you stories :) and if you feel in the mood for it here my prompt: bellarke + being co-hosts on tv

“Good evening, I’m Clarke Griffin--

 

“--and I'm Bellamy Blake with A-R-K’s eleven o’clock news.  First we have breaking news, as Mayor Thelonius Jaha has declared himself “chosen.”  “Chosen” for what, exactly, is where we start tonight with John Murphy, on the scene from City Hall.  John?”

 

“And we’re out,” Monroe said as they switched to a live feed from in front of City Hall.

 

Clarke flipped her hair back over her shoulder and tipped her head to give Lincoln a better angle as he reapplied some powder that had somehow gotten smudged right before they went live.  “So Jacob went down okay?”

 

“Only took two stories instead of three,” Bellamy confirmed and shuffled the papers in front of him with a frown on his face.  “Are you doing the intro for the expose on Diana Sydney, or am I?”

 

“I am.  Monroe made sure to switch it on the prompter.”  Monroe signaled silently to her when the red camera light blinked on and Clarke instantly sat up straighter.  “Thank you for that, John.  In more City Hall news, rumors have been swirling about how Councilwoman Sydney won her seat.  For an interview with the Councilwoman herself on her election and the controversies around it, we turn to Harper Johnson, live in our newsroom.”

 

“Out again,” Monroe yelled and Clarke slouched down a little.

 

“Julia’s soccer game is tomorrow at four,” Bellamy reminded her.  “And your mom wanted me to tell you that she already bought snacks for after the game so we don’t have to.”

 

“And you signed her permission slip for the field trip next week?”

 

“I did.  Although why you signed up to go to the zoo with a bunch of eight year olds is beyond me.”

 

“You’re just jealous,” Clarke said with a wink.

 

“Damn straight,” he replied and returned her wink a half second before Monroe signaled them that they were back on camera.


	54. Ex's ex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anon prompt: Oh my god, you're my ex's ex for Bellarke please.
> 
> (With an extra ex tossed in for good measure.)

 

The blonde at the end of the bar signaled for another whiskey, so Bellamy poured it and slid it over.  She’d been sitting there since his shift started, looking glum.  “Doing okay, princess?” he asked.  

 

She shrugged and knocked back the whiskey in one gulp.  “Break ups suck,” she mumbled.

 

“That they do.  Want another?”

 

She nodded and he poured her another shot.  “Put it on my tab,” she said before tilting her head back and downing it.  

 

“Name?”

 

“Griffin.”  She sighed heavily and put her head down on the sticky bar.

“Clarke?” he asked, and took the movement of her head as a nod.  “That sounds...familiar.  Have we met?”  Normally Bellamy didn’t bother chatting with customers, but the bar was dead and he was bored.  (And she was pretty.  Too drunk to really flirt with, but pretty).

 

She looked at him blearily.  “I think I’d remember you.  Whats your name?”

 

“Bellamy.  Bellamy Blake.”

 

He could practically feel her brain trying to switch into gear.  “Raven’s ex?”

 

“I don’t know if we were ever enough to be exes, but yeah.  You’re friends with Raven?”

 

“Kind of.  We dated the same guy.  At the same time.  Now we get drunk together sometimes.”

 

“But not today?” he asked.

 

“No.  Today is a drinking alone sort of day.”

 

Bellamy meant to respond, but a group of suits walked in for the evening happy hour, and by the time he turned back to her she was pretty far gone.  “Echo--how many did you give her?” he snapped.

 

Echo shrugged.  “Two, I think.  Why?”

 

“Look at her.  I gave her two, but she was here when I got here.  Any idea how many she’s had?”

 

Echo scanned through the open tabs and found hers.  “Just one more.  Five total, but--shit, that’s a lot.”

 

“Fuck,” Bellamy muttered and pulled out his phone.  “Can you handle the bar while I’ll deal with this?”  Echo nodded and headed off toward a new pack of customers.

 

_Bellamy Blake_

_6:48pm_

_Your friend Clarke is at my bar and she’s wasted._

_Raven Reyes_

_6:49pm_

_How the hell do you know Clarke?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_6:49pm_

_Not really the point.  Can you come get her?_

_Raven Reyes_

_6:49pm_

_Why can’t you take care of her?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_6:50pm_

_I’m not her mother._

_Raven Reyes_

_6:50pm_

_You’re everyone’s mother._

_Raven Reyes_

_6:50pm_

_(Already halfway to my car)_

 

Bellamy filled up a water glass and set it in front of Clarke.  “Drink.  Raven’s going to be here in a few minutes to get you.”

 

“Raven?” she slurred.

 

“Yeah.  Raven.  Now drink up.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “If Raven’s your ex, and she and I have the same ex, what does that make you?”

 

“Your bartender.  Drink, okay?”

 

Clarke obediently took a sip but set the glass back down.  “I know--you’re my ex’s ex’s ex.  Ex.  Or...no, too many ex’s.  Whatever, you’re something.”  

 

Bellamy smiled and motioned for her to keep drinking her water.  He was halfway through pulling another round for the suits when his phone buzzed.

 

_Raven Reyes_

_7:01pm_

_Parking is a nightmare.  Can you bring her out front?_

 

Bellamy asked Echo to cover for him and ducked out from behind the bar.  “Your ride’s here,” he announced.

 

“My tab,” Clarke mumbled.

 

“We’ll handle it tomorrow,” he told her, slinging her arm over his shoulder.  She leaned into him and he guided her out to the sidewalk.

 

Raven jumped out and gathered Clarke into her arms.  “What’s wrong, hon?”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke muttered.  “We’re done.”

 

Raven kissed her cheek and helped her into the car and then ran back to give Bellamy a hug.  “I owe you.”  She glanced over her shoulder at Clarke.  “If she’s recovered, I was going to meet Clarke for drinks on Friday.  Grounders--8pm.  You in?”

 

“You buying?”

 

“Me?  Fuck no.  She is.  She owes you too.  Sound good?”

 

“Sounds great, Reyes.”

  



	55. Soulmate AU (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Bellarke Prompt please. A soulmate AU. But one of those where you have the first thing your soulmate will say to you tattooed on you.

It had been branded on her arm for as long as she could remember.  _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ , written in a neat, even font on her inner forearm _._  It was the first sentence she sounded out on her own (her mother had been reluctant to help her, and her reaction when Clarke lisped it out and asked what that meant had been enough to keep Clarke from saying  _that word_  out loud for another five years) and once she turned ten it became a mark of pride.

 _Clarke’s is a swear_ , kids whispered around school. It was funny to them (and to her): prim, cool Clarke, and her soulmate’s first words were going to be  _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_. Most people had innocuous ones— _Hello can I help you?_  Or the very useful  _Hi, my name is Tom_. Some were mildly exciting ( _Get down! They’re shooting!)_  and some were weird ( _Sorry about the puke)_  but few were as blunt and exciting as Clarke’s.

She started wondering if she would meet him in high school, that time when people finally stopped talking as if their parents were hanging over their shoulders, but while she heard  _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ a lot, it was never the first thing out of their mouths. By college it had faded to the back of her mind—always there but not as present, not lurking over her shoulder at all times.

She had almost completely forgotten pay attention when Professor Kane started calling out partners for the semester-long project. Clarke hadn’t spoken directly  _to_  Bellamy Blake before, but she knew they didn’t get along. He was constantly contradicting her, raising his hand the second she finished talking to rebut her point. He was absolutely infuriating, so there was no way they were soulmates.

It just wasn’t possible.

So when Kane called out “Blake, you’ll be with Griffin,” she didn’t even consider  _speaking_  to Bellamy first.

“Professor Kane, is there any way to switch partners?” she asked. It was nasty, but it was better than spending the semester with someone who frequently referred to her as  _princess_.

“Absolutely not, Miss Griffin,” Kane replied sternly and Clarke sank lower in her chair. Bellamy looked at her over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at her.

She walked up to him after class, her face buried in her bag as she looked for a pen to trade email addresses. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” she said as she dug past several tampons, her phone, and a book she kept meaning to return to Raven. If she had looked up just then she would have seen his face (okay, his  _handsome_  face. She might not like him but she wasn’t  _blind_ ) drain of color. She found the pen and looked up to see his look of abject horror. “What?”

“You’ve got to be fucking  _kidding me_ ,” he swore and Clarke felt her stomach drop to the floor.

 

_Bellamy Blake was her soulmate._


	56. Soulmate AU (Bellamy's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sufianstevens asked: i know you barely just posted it but i have absolutely no chill whatsoever so please please continue the soulmate tattoo bellarke soon.

_Looks like we’re stuck with each other._  Seven words. Seven damn words that shouldn’t have had a hold over him, but Bellamy had spent his life trying to parse those words.

Were they going to be stuck in a room together? Maybe a stalled elevator? That wouldn’t be so bad. That was the sort of thing someone would say off hand without malice.

But secretly, Bellamy knew how this woman—whomever she was—would say it. He would walk up to her, unknowing, and deliver the line tattooed on her inner arm. She would look at him, sigh, and roll up her sleeve. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” she would say with a note of disgust in her voice and once again, Bellamy would be a disappointment.

He hated the tattoo on his arm and the resignation that radiated from it. He wished he had someone else, maybe something like Octavia’s.  _Lincoln_ , was all her’s said and it could be many things—an address, a name, a place. There were hundreds of way to interpret hers, but only one way to interpret Bellamy’s. (Well, only one way that made sense to him.)

Bellamy scratched at it absently, wishing Kane would hurry up and just assign the damn partners already. He just wanted to get the project going and didn’t care who he got assigned as a partner.

Well, he did.

Anyone but  _her._


	57. Soulmate AU (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sufianstevens asked: I'm honestly such a sap for soulmate!aus so I'd like to request the next ten thousand installments of the Bellarke one
> 
> Anonymous said: Can we have a continuation if soulmate tattoo!Bellarke? Because I never knew I needed it so much til you wrote it xx
> 
> ringmybellarke said:OOOH MY! The soulmates au! I’m begging you to continue  
> and marycontrary82 suggested the rough plot.
> 
> For everlarkanxiety. It’s not ten thousand installments, but it’s a start.

After the initial shock wore off, both of them decided to pretend it wasn’t happening. It was a coincidence, that was all. An almost impossible coincidence, but the alternative—that they were _soulmates_ —was even more impossible. So they divided up the work on their project as neatly and evenly as possible so they wouldn’t need to actually work  _together._

It worked for most of the semester, but they had to deliver a joint presentation for 30% of their final grade. Clarke wasn’t about to let that go to chance so she insisted they meet a few nights before to practice. Bellamy, in turn, insisted that she come to his apartment.  _I’m not hauling my ass to some sorority house_ , he’d sneered. The fact that she wasn’t even  _in_  a sorority (even though a bunch of her friends were and really, what was Bellamy’s problem?) didn’t matter.

So here she was, in Bellamy’s surprisingly clean apartment. It even lacked the requisite beer-and-dirty-socks smell most boy’s places seemed to have. He sent her a scornful look when she mentioned that (she was trying to be nice but he was determined to be awful, apparently) but after a little bit, they settled into a decent rhythm. An hour in he disappeared to the kitchen and came back with two beers. He handed one to her that she took without looking as she fixed a few things on the powerpoint. “Okay, we’re good,” she announced and he nodded.

Clarke nursed her beer as Bellamy ran through his half of the presentation. He handed it off seamlessly to her and she finished in just under the amount of time allotted. “Nice work, princess,” he said genially and they shared a lazy high five.

“Why do you call me that?” she said as she leaned back into his couch a few feet away from him.

Bellamy shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “Why do you let me?”

“I do not  _let_  you,” she threw back.

“Course you do.” He looked at her and her chest felt uncomfortably tight. Had his eyes always been that dark? Clarke glanced away and fought a blush. Bellamy gave her a lopsided smile. “So, aren’t you at all curious?”

“’Bout what?”

Bellamy rolled up his sleeved and bared his tattoo.  _Looks like we’re stuck with each other_ , her first words spoken directly to him, stood out in sharp relief on his dark olive skin.

“Could be a coincidence,” she said uncertainly.

“Do you really think so?” His voice seemed to have dropped a little since he last spoke.

Clarke chewed on the inside of her cheek and eventually lifted and dropped one shoulder. Their sudden switch from hostility to teammates was enough to process—she wasn’t sure she could handle this too.

Bellamy sat up and looked at her earnestly, no trace of his usual mockery in his eyes. “What if it’s real? What if—it’s supposed to be us?”

“I—I don’t know.”

He set down his beer and leaned closer. “Should we…find out?”

In response Clarke closed the space between them desperately, tangling her fingers in his thick, dark curls and sealing her lips against his. He responded immediately, his hands curving around the back of her skull. She licked at the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth, giving her the access she suddenly craved. His tongue brushed against hers and she melted. Bellamy pushed her down to the cushions and she drew him with her, needing his weight on her.

She still wasn’t sure they were soulmates. But in the mean time, this was pretty nice.


	58. Just Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble prompt from lovemelikesunday: #23, "Just once."

 

Clarke had a list a mile long as to why sleeping with Bellamy was a bad idea.

 

_He’s Octavia’s brother._

_He’s kind of Raven’s ex._

_He’s a little insufferable._

_Everyone else will be insufferable when they find out._

_There’s no going back after this._

_It will change everything._

 

But here she was in Bellamy’s apartment, her back pressed against the wall in his kitchen while he braced his forearms on either side of her head.

 

She wasn’t drunk, so she couldn’t even use that as an excuse.

 

It was her fault, anyway.  She was the one who texted him at 11:30pm on a Saturday night.  It wasn’t like she didn’t know where it was going when she pulled out her phone and told him she was bored.

 

_So come over.  Not like I’m doing anything._

 

Her heart had raced the entire time she got dressed (she was reasonably sure it was a booty call and therefore sweatpants and an old tank top weren’t really situation-appropriate) and drove across town to the apartment he shared with Miller.

 

(Miller was staying at Monty’s tonight, a fact which may or may not have played into why she decided to text Bellamy.)

 

He was wearing low-slung jeans and an old t-shirt that revealed a slice of his lower abdomen when he ran his fingers through his hair, and Clarke wasn’t sure if that was what he’d been wearing all night (possible) or if he, like her, had changed when he invited her over (also possible).  Bellamy had let her in and gestured vaguely toward his kitchen.  “Want something to drink?”

 

Clarke shrugged and followed him, suddenly not sure what she was doing here.   _Maybe it’s nothing.  Maybe he was just being polite.  Maybe I’m reading too much into this._  (She was pretty sure she wasn’t, though.  The way he looked at her sometimes couldn’t just be her imagination because when he did that, her breath would catch in her throat and she’d lose her train of thought.)  She accepted the beer he offered and for a few minutes they stood awkwardly in the bright kitchen, making small talk and acting like this wasn’t weird.

 

Like her very presence in his empty apartment in the middle of the night didn’t signify that things were about to change for them.  Like the air between them wasn’t charged with electricity.

 

Clarke rambled on about her latest shift at the hospital as Bellamy carefully set down his beer bottle and walked toward her.  Unconsciously she stepped back but he followed until her back bumped into the wall and he leaned closer to her.  His fingers brushed hers when he took the beer from her hand and set it down on the table, but his eyes never left hers.  His gaze burned and she forgot what she was talking about.  She forgot her list of objections (even though if she was honest, those objections had gone out of the window the moment she picked up her phone) and forgot everything that wasn’t Bellamy, caging her against the wall with his body.

 

“I’m not crazy, right?” he whispered, trailing a finger along her jaw.

 

“You’re not.  I thought--” She brought her hands to rest on his waist, seeking out the heated skin just above his waistline.  Bellamy’s eyes fluttered closed at her touch.  “I thought we should get this out of our system.”

 

His eyes popped open and his pupils blew wide.  “Out of our system,” he repeated, and doubt threatened to drown the courage she’d spent the night working up.

 

“Just once,” she hedged.  

 

“Just once,” Bellamy said again.  “I can live with that.”  He closed the distance between them and the second their lips touched, she knew she was lying.

 

Once would never be enough.


	59. It's Not What It Looks Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on anon tumblr prompts for "It's not what it looks like" and "Have you seen the...? Oh."

Clarke bit her lip as Bellamy helped guide her hips in a rhythm that had them both panting, his chest heaving below her.  She still wasn’t sure this was the best way to handle Raven crash landing in their camp and Finn’s betrayal, but screw it.  It had made her feel better the last time she ended up in Bellamy’s tent (that time she was on her back and when he hitched her leg higher around his hip her vision went white and suddenly she completely understood why there was a metaphorical line in front of his tent most nights) so here she was again, struggling to keep her moans quiet.  Bellamy having sex wouldn’t be news to the other delinquents, but if they found out it was her--well, she wasn’t sure what would happen, but if she had learned one thing in the few short weeks that they’d been on the ground, it was that the unexpected was never something good.  The less anyone else knew about this, the better.

 

Clarke leaned forward and planted her hands on either side of his head, and Bellamy tipped his head up to capture her nipple in his mouth.  She groaned, rocking her hips a little faster, and his hand slipped between them to draw tight circles on her clit.

 

“Hey man, have you seen the--oh holy _shit_ ,” Miller hissed, freezing at the door to Bellamy’s tent.

 

Bellamy gathered her in his arms and flipped them over, doing his best to cover her with his body.  “This isn’t what it looks like,” he protested lamely.

 

Miller crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.  “Really?  Because it looks like you and Griffin are screwing, something people have been waiting for you two to do practically since we landed.”

 

Bellamy covered Clarke with the blanket and sat up, shielding her from Miller with his torso.  “It’s not really any of your goddamn business,” he snarled, and Clarke had to fight a smile while she searched for her shirt.  It was almost cute, really, the way he seemed to be trying to protect her.  Just because she didn’t want the other kids to know--because then there would be the jokes, and the questions, and the insinuations that she didn’t want to deal with--didn’t mean she was someone who needed his protection.

 

Miller tilted his head to the side and sought out Clarke’s eyes.  “One of the younger kids just threw up and I couldn’t find those leaves you used last time,” he told her.  “Do you want to see him, or should I tell him to suck it up?”

 

Clarke finished redressing under the blanket and sat up to straighten out her shirt.  “I can handle it.  Take him into the dropship and I’ll be there in just a minute or two.”

 

Miller nodded and flashed a mischievous grin at Bellamy, who was still glaring at him.  “Sorry man,” he said drily and ducked back out of the tent.

 

Clarke stuffed her feet into her boots and started tying them while Bellamy watched impassively.  “I should go deal with that kid,” she said.  “Sorry we, um, didn’t finish what we started.”  Bellamy shrugged and on an impulse she leaned forward to brush a kiss against his lips, soft and so different from how things usually were between them.  “I’ll try and sneak back later, okay?”

 

Bellamy caught her wrist and pulled her back towards him, kissing her again--this one deep and full of passion, like the one that started everything.  “I’ll be here,” he promised.

 

And that was the thing--she knew he would be.  She wasn’t sure when she started trusting him implicitly, but she did.

 

She trusted Bellamy.  With everything.

 


	60. Don't do this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on passiveire's prompt: "Please, don't do this."

“Please,” Clarke begged.  “Bellamy, please think about this.  Think about what you’re doing.”

 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her.  “I know exactly what I’m doing, princess.”  He shifted, cutting off her escape route.  “Do you?”

 

“Please, don’t do this,” she said again, searching desperately for something to distract him.

 

“You started this.  Now I have to end it.”

 

Surrender wasn’t in her nature, but she didn’t have a choice so she closed her eyes and braced herself.

 

Even though she knew it was coming, the cold water caught her by surprise.  It hit her full-blast in her chest and she squealed so loudly she knew Bellamy would never let her live it down.  She tried to run again but only succeeded in running straight into Bellamy, who wrestled her over his shoulder.  She beat her fists against his bare back and demanded that he put her down, but he paid her no attention as he dropped the hose and marched back to the pool with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.  “I’m sorry, okay?  I’m sorry.  I won’t push you in the pool ever again,” she pleaded uselessly.

 

“I know you won’t,” he said evilly, and this time, she was ready when he shifted and tossed her into the pool.

 

Raven and Wick were watching them from near the grill with thinly disguised interested, and Miller was smirking.  Clarke pushed herself out of the pool with all the dignity she could muster as she dripped water all over the patio.  “Truce?” she said, offering her hand.

 

Bellamy shook a few droplets of water out of his dark hair and grinned as he shook her hand.  “Truce.”


	61. I could give you a massage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From two anon prompts for “...I could give you a massage?”

Bellamy knocked on the door to Clarke’s cabin and waited for her to call him in.  In the two months since she returned things had gone back to normal between them, for the most part.  Sometimes she got unexpectedly quiet, and she tended to flinch when anyone tried to touch her, but she was back and she was safe so Bellamy counted it as a win.  She’d heal, eventually.  He just needed to give her time.

 

Clarke was sitting with her back to him, maps of the new camp spread out in front of her.  She turned around stiffly, her shoulders squared and her back ramrod straight.  Bellamy furrowed his brow, his question about the placement of the smokehouse forgotten.  “What’s wrong?”

 

She shrugged and then immediately winced.  “I did something to my back today, I think when I was practicing with the guard.”  New Camp Jaha regulations stated that everyone over 18 had to finish guard training, whether or not they took a spot in the guard. “It’s fine, just stiff.  What did you need?”

 

“I was wondering if we should move the smokehouse to the southeast corner to keep it downwind from the main camp.”

 

Clarke nodded and winced again.  “Yeah, I’ll make sure to bring that up with Marcus.”  Her jaw was set and he could see the way even small movements seemed to hurt.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“I’ll live,” she said breezily, but the tightness around her eyes showed her pain.

 

“Lay down,” he said, tipping his head toward her cot.  “I’ll give you a massage.  You can barely move, you know.”

 

Clarke hesitated and Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look intimidating.  It never really worked on her--not even at the beginning--but it was worth a shot.  Finally she smiled a little reluctantly and toed her boots off.

 

She moved awkwardly toward her bed and sat down, only to stand back up again.  “Turn around,” she ordered.  “I’d rather have my shirt off so you’re not just rubbing the fabric into my skin.”

 

Bellamy obliged and waited patiently until she signaled that she was ready.  He slipped his boots off to keep them from covering her fur blankets in mud and climbed in.  He settled his knees on either side of her hips and sat back on his heels, keeping most of his weight off her.  Her bare back lay before him, soft and smooth in the dim light.  Bellamy dug his fingers into the muscles joining her neck to her shoulders and Clarke sighed.  “That okay?”

 

“It’s good,” she said, her voice muffled by the furs.  “You can keep going.”

 

Her muscles felt like steel under his fingertips, bunched and corded and tense.  He worked slowly, starting with her shoulders and then moving methodically down her spine.  He found a knot between her shoulderblades and when he pressed on it with his thumb she hissed in pain.  “Too hard?” he asked.

 

She shook her head.  “No, that’s--that’s it.  That’s the spot.  I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.”  Clarke whimpered a little when he started working the knot in earnest, but soon he felt her start to relax.  The knots remained but felt looser, and she no longer seemed to radiate tension.

 

Bellamy was almost proud of himself until he heard her sniffle.  “Everything okay?” he asked.

 

 Clarke nodded, but now that he was looking at her face he could see tear tracks glistening on her cheek and across the bridge of her nose.  He stopped and moved to kneel next to the bed, near her head.  “Hey, I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I thought this would help.”

 

Clarke turned her head to look at him, her eyes shining with tears.  “That’s not it--it did help.  I’m fine, really,” she whispered hoarsely.

 

Bellamy found himself tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Crying isn’t usually a sign that you’re okay.”

 

She gave him a watery smile.  “I just haven’t really let anyone touch me since I left.  My mom hugged me when I came back, and you did, and Monty tried, but--that’s really it.  I didn’t think I could handle it, you know?”  Bellamy nodded and wiped away another tear with his thumb.  “I guess I missed it more than I thought, and--sorry, it’s not you.  I just got overwhelmed.”

 

He rested his hand on her back and ignored the part of his brain that pointed out that was somehow more intimate than anything they'd done.  “Want me to go?”

 

Clarke bit her lip and shook her head.  “Could you stay?  For the night?”

 

Bellamy held her gaze and nodded.  Clarke rolled away from him and he pulled his shirt off over his head, let it drop to the floor and shifted until he lay parallel to her.  Together they tugged up the blankets and Bellamy draped his arm over her and pulled her back flush against his chest.  Her breast rested lightly on his forearm and he buried his face in her hair.  “This all right?” he asked.

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Clarke hummed.  She took a shaky breath that he felt, rather than heard.  He didn’t want to tell her how much he needed this too, so he simply tightened his arms around her and let her warmth seep into his skin.

 

She was healing, and so was he.

  



	62. Kiss Me (Parental Disapproval Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From paperjess' prompt "Kiss me." Set in the Parental Disapproval (chapter 20) universe.

“Ready?” Clarke asked, slinging the backpack over her shoulders.

 

“Ready,” Bellamy replied.  The trial was almost over, but the defense had called him back to the stand which meant disguising themselves as their cover personas one last time to leave the hotel.  And since it would be a dead giveaway if a runaway college student and her dirtbag boyfriend waltzed back into the lobby in the suits they wore for his testimony, they’d had to change back into jeans and ratty t shirts in the courthouse bathroom.  Her gun was tucked safely into the back of her jeans and she’d tracked everyone who got on and off the bus--so far, no one had followed them or seemed at all out of the ordinary.

 

She pulled the cord to signal their stop and followed Bellamy off the bus.  He draped his arm casually across her shoulder and she kept up her surveillance of passing pedestrians.  The hotel’s air conditioning hit them full blast.  She swept the lobby with her gaze, alert for anyone out of the ordinary, when the clerk caught her eye.  He was watching them a little too interestedly for her taste, so she tipped her chin up toward Bellamy.  “Kiss me,” she ordered.  Bellamy kept his arm around her but knitted his brows ever-so-slightly in question.  “It’s the clerk.  I don’t like how he’s looking at us.  Kiss me.”

 

Bellamy stopped walking and turned to kiss her full on in the middle of the lobby and despite all her training, Clarke forgot where she was for the moment.  His lips were soft and his hands came up to cradle her face, and when his tongue curled around hers she almost stopped breathing.  Bellamy broke the kiss but kept looking at her, his eyes wide and dazed.

 

Clarke came back to herself and risked a glance at the clerk.  He looked away, disgust etched on his face.   _Good.  Disgust is good_ , she thought.  Clarke tangled her fingers with Bellamy’s and tugged him toward the stairs.

 

“We in the clear?” he whispered as the door swung shut behind them.

 

“I think so.  I thought he was eyeing us, but I don’t think he’s cartel.  Just bored.”  She squeezed his hand comfortingly, even though there was no real reason to keep up the pretense in the stairwell.  “Just a few more days of this,” she promised, and he squeezed her hand back with a shy grin.


	63. I can't do this without you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From bands-a-make-me-dancee's tumblr prompt: “I almost lost you/“Don’t you ever do that again!”/“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Bellamy’s voice filtered through the haze of beeps and buzzing machines, rough but familiar.  She clung to it like a lifeline and let it drag her from the fog and into the unforgiving bright light of the hospital.  The last thing she remembered was vomiting and ordering Bellamy to drive her to the hospital and tell them she had appendicitis before passing out.

His hand was curled around hers, gentle and reassuring.  “Do what?” she asked hoarsely, lifting her hand to run her fingers through his disheveled curls.  They didn’t normally touch like this, but then again normal never really applied to them.   _Fucked up_ , according to Raven.   _Weird and kind of gross,_  according to Octavia.   _Drowning in sexual tension and too chickenshit to admit it,_  as Murphy put it.  They were roommates and best friends and okay, maybe a little co-dependent, but she didn’t like to analyze it.  They were what they were and that was that.

Bellamy’s head snapped up and a smile spread across his face that seemed to outshine the lights in the room.  “You’re awake,” he said, still holding her hand.

“You can’t do what without me?” she pressed.

She expected him to look embarrassed but instead he looked serious.  “This.  Everything.  You know that, don’t you?”  He brushed his knuckles across her cheek.  “But don’t ever do this again, okay?”

“I’m reasonably sure they took my appendix out, so I think we’re safe on that front,” she teased.

Bellamy smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I mean it, okay?  I almost lost you.”

“It was just appendicitis–I wasn’t going to die,” Clarke said.

“You didn’t see how pale you got, or feel you burning up while we waiting in the emergency room.  It was scary, Clarke.”

“I’m okay,” she assured him and cupped his cheek with her palm.  “I’m fine.  And I’m not going anywhere.”


	64. It's Not What It Looks Like (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because swishywillow wanted more.

“Isn’t it a bit cold for swimming?” Clarke called down to Bellamy from the bank of the river.

 

He waded toward her with a shrug.  “I don’t mind,” he said, a cocky smirk on his face.

 

“Well, I’m the one who would have to patch you up if you catch a cold, so why don’t you come out and dry off?”

 

Bellamy’s smirk deepened as he climbed out of the water and took the blanket she held out as a towel.  Clarke had seen him naked half a dozen times by now, and the blush that spread across her chest and neck had nothing to do with embarrassment.  “We need to do something about the south wall,” she said as he cinched the blanket around his waist.

 

“Miller’s already on it,” he replied, walking towards her until she was pinned between him and a tree.  

 

She traced the smattering of freckles on his shoulders.  “We need to figure out something for sun exposure, too.  We don’t know what will happen with our skin down here.”

 

Bellamy nosed at her jawline.  “I’ve always had these.  Everywhere.  I’ve got freckles in places you haven’t even dreamed about.”  He sucked softly at the spot below her ear that always made her gasp.

 

“Oh, I’ve dreamed about them.”  

 

Bellamy pulled back in surprise, but quickly recovered and the dangerous smirk returned to his face.  “I’m in your dreams now, am I?”

 

“Maybe,” Clarke conceded.  She craned her neck to kiss him and curled her fingers into the blanket at his waist.  His knee slid between her thighs, making her moan.  “Think we can convince the kids to stay out of the tent this time?” she asked as he trailed his lips down the column of her throat.

 

“Who says we need a tent?” he muttered against her skin, and when he popped the button on her waistband Clarke nodded eagerly in response.

 

This time, she traced the freckles on his shoulder with her tongue.


	65. I wish I could hate you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt "I wish I could hate you."

Bellamy leaned his rifle against a tree and sat down to wait.  Clarke appeared at his side with a gentle smile and took her usual spot next to him.  “How’s Monroe’s ankle doing?” she asked.

“Getting better.  Your mom says she’ll be off crutches in a few days.”

“And mom?”

“Up and walking around.  I think she uses a cane still sometimes, but she’s doing pretty good on her own.  And Harper is sleeping through the night now.”

“That’s good,” Clarke said, almost to herself.  “And Octavia and Lincoln are still running training for the guard?”

Bellamy nodded.  “They are.  Lincoln’s also working with the hunters on tracking and foraging, so maybe we won’t starve this winter.”

“And you?” Clarke asked.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not a lot to go on.”

Bellamy lifted one shoulder and dropped it.  “I’m fine.  Council meetings are boring as hell, but they’re making an effort to at least consider what I say.”

“Any word from Lexa?”

“No,” he said flatly.  “Or from you.”

“Bellamy–-”

“Where are you, Clarke?  Where did you go?”  He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars.  “Why haven’t you come back?”  The Clarke next to him stayed silent, like she did every time he asked her that.

Of course she did–-she wasn’t real.  He didn’t know the answer, and so the Clarke he talked to on quiet afternoons didn’t either.  “I wish I could hate you,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, but it didn’t do anything to ease the pit in his stomach that appeared the day she walked away.

He understood why she left, but that didn’t make it easier.  He knew why he couldn’t go after her, but that didn’t make staying behind hurt any less.  

He just wanted her back.


	66. Ashamed IV: Payback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the anonymous prompt: "This is, without a doubt, the stupidest idea you've ever had. Of course I'm in." In the "Ashamed" universe (chapters 1-3).

 

Bellamy Blake

2:34pm

Raven and Wick are going on their date tonight right?

 

Clarke Griffin

2:36pm

Supposedly.  But she won’t say where or when.

 

Bellamy Blake

2:36pm

Interesting

 

Bellamy Blake

2:36pm

Because Wick just texted to ask for the name of the pizza place we went to on our third date.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:37pm

NO.  

 

Bellamy Blake

2:37pm

YES

 

Bellamy Blake

2:37pm

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

 

Clarke Griffin

2:38pm

….no?

 

Bellamy Blake

2:38pm

Revenge.

 

Bellamy Blake

2:38pm

We stop by to pick up an order and accidentally crash their date.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:38pm

And then Raven murders us both while Wick laughs and takes pictures.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:39pm

This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:39pm

Of course I’m in.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:39pm

But how will we know when to stop by?

 

Bellamy Blake

2:40pm

We get Monty and Jasper to verify when Wick’s car leaves and then give them a 20 minute head start.

 

Bellamy Blake

2:40pm

So that they’re in prime awkward conversation territory when we crash.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:40pm

...you’ve put a lot of thought into this.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:40pm

And you’re aware that Raven will put our heads on spikes as a warning to everyone else, right?

 

Bellamy Blake

2:40pm

I am.  And I just talked to Monty and he and Jasper are in.

 

Bellamy Blake

2:40pm

Although Miller would like to register his disapproval.

 

Bellamy Blake

2:40pm

“This will only end in tears.”  His exact words.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:41pm

Shut up Miller.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:42pm

I’m in, obviously.  Text when Monty and Jasper give the word and I’ll call in our order.

 

Clarke Griffin

2:42pm

Sausage and mushroom okay?

 

Bellamy Blake

2:43pm

Perfect.  See you tonight

  
  



	67. You did what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itbetterbeworththis requested "You did what?"

“Octavia, please, tell me you’re kidding,” Clarke said, staring at her former roommate across her kitchen table.  The diamond on Octavia’s finger winked in the afternoon sun.

“I’m not.  We were talking about how this is it for us, and we want to spend the rest of our lives together, and then we were at the courthouse filling out paperwork,” Octavia said, twisting her ring nervously.  “You’ve gotta help us tell Bellamy.”

“No.  Absolutely not. He is going to kill you, and then I’ll be an accessory to murder.”

Octavia shifted in her seat.  “Except, um, Lincoln is on his way over.  And so’s Bellamy.”

Clarke flared her nostrils as someone knocked on the door.  “That had better be Lincoln, because if it’s Bellamy I’m going to sell you out the second he walks through that door.”

Lincoln stood in front of her looking sheepish and small, an impressive feat considering his bulk.  “She told you?”

“She did,” Clarke snapped.  “Come in.”  She crossed her arms and glared at them both.  “I can’t believe you didn’t wait for him.”

Lincoln rested his hand on Octavia’s shoulder.  “We should have, I know–it was impulsive and stupid.  Will you–can you talk to him when he gets here?”

“Why me?” Clarke asked.  “When the hell did I get designated his handler?”

“You’ve always been able to get through to him; convince him when he’s overreacting,” Octavia begged.

A knock sounded behind her and she gave them one last pointed look.  “We’ll see,” she said and opened the door.

“Why did Octavia invite me to you–oh, hey, O,” Bellamy said and sidled past Clarke.  “And…Lincoln.”  He sent Clarke a suspicious look.  “What’s going on?”

Octavia slipped her hand into Lincoln’s (conveniently hiding her ring) and stood.  “Bell, we have something to tell you.  We got married last week.”

“You did  _what_?” Bellamy shouted.

Clarke put her hand on his arm.  “Hey, can I talk to you?  Alone?”

“Later.  O, really?  What the fuck?”

“No.  Now,” she said and pulled him into her room, slamming the door behind them.  “I get that you’re mad,” Clarke whispered.

“Mad?  I’m fucking  _furious_.”

“I get that you’re mad,” she said again.  “But before you kill her, I thought I’d remind you that we’ve been…together for almost a year and still haven’t told her.”

“So?”

“So, think about it.  You guys are close, but you’ve kept something big from her.”

“Not nearly as big as getting married,” Bellamy retorted.

“I know, I know,” she soothed.  “But it’s big, and you haven’t told her.”

Something akin to confusion crossed Bellamy’s face.  “I thought–I thought you didn’t want anyone to know about us.  That it was just sex, so why tell them?”

Clarke shifted uncomfortably.  “I did, yeah.  But I’m just saying–there’s some precedent here for keeping things from your family.  And impulsive decision making.”  She fought a smile as she remembered the first time they fell into bed together after nothing more than a beer each and a quiet  _do you want to?_  followed by his  _why not?_ That was ten months ago and they showed no signs of stopping.  In fact, Clarke wasn’t entirely sure that it was just sex anymore, but they could deal with that later.

Bellamy’s eyes closed.  “So what do I do?”

Clarke took his face in her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.  “You go out there and listen to her. No murdering her or Lincoln.”

He rested his forehead on hers.  “We should probably tell her eventually, huh?”

“Yeah, probably.  But today is about her.  So go be her big brother, okay?”

Bellamy kissed her forehead.  “I’ll do my best.”


	68. Boxer (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by lydiamartenism and inspired by a post I can’t find anymore about OTPs cuddling while one reads. Chapter 52 is the first installment.

“How did the final go?” Clarke asked as she entered their bedroom.  Well, her bedroom, officially.  But Bellamy was over so often now she’d sort of stopped thinking of it as hers alone.  That probably implied something significant, but right now she was too tired to examine it.

Bellamy glanced up from the book in his lap and Clarke bit her lip to hide the smile she always got when she saw him in his glasses.  She liked how he looked like this, sitting up in her bed, reading.  (The whole shirtless thing helped too.)  “Pretty easy, to be honest.  How was work?”

Clarke shrugged as she changed into her pajamas–which these days was just an old shirt from his gym.  “The same.  Nothing too crazy.”  She climbed onto the bed and tipped his chin toward her while she eyed him critically.  “Did you go to the gym today?”

“Yeah, went a few rounds with Lincoln.  I know, I know–I’ve got a shiner.  But that’s it, I swear.”

Clarke sighed and peeled back her side of the covers.  Bellamy automatically lifted his arm and let her curl into him with her head on his stomach.  She heard him hiss slightly and lifted her head to raise an eyebrow at him.  “Just a shiner, huh?”

Bellamy grimaced.  “He got in a good couple shots, okay?  Just–scoot down a little.”  Clarke obliged and he rested his hand on the top of her head, stroking her hair absent-mindedly as he went back to his book.

Soon, she was asleep.


	69. Tell Me a Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: "Please, don't leave" and "tell me a secret."

It happened so gradually at first that Clarke didn’t even notice.  Her return to camp was so chaotic, so full of regret and shame and fear and relief, that for the first few months she could only manage to focus on surviving each day without drowning in her emotions.  Clarke knew coming back to camp would be hard, but the sheer terror she felt walking back towards the gates threatened to overwhelm her.  It wasn’t until Bellamy broke through the scrum around her and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck, that she knew she could stay.

She should have realized it then, but she didn’t.

It wasn’t until the heat of the summer had waned and the chill of fall set in that Clarke realized anything had changed.  A year before she had been locked in solitary on a spaceship and now she sat next to a firepit in the center of her own cabin, constructed in the grounder style, with Bellamy across from her.  Heat pooled low in her belly thanks to Monty’s moonshine and Bellamy chuckled at something she said, and then suddenly, the world snapped into focus and the ground shifted, and she knew.

Bellamy had always been handsome.  She’d known that since the day the dropship came down.  She’d loathed him, but even then she had recognized the breadth of his shoulders and the sharpness of his jaw.

But now, firelight playing across the planes of his face, he was radiant.  Her heart ached and soared and sank, and she couldn’t believe she never noticed before.  Bellamy was more than just her best friend, he was precious to her in a way no one else would ever be.  The realization stole the breath from her lungs, both with it’s power and with her certainty that there was too much between them now for it to be possible.  She betrayed him by leaving, just as Lexa had betrayed her at the foot of the mountain.

Bellamy was everything to her, but she could never be the same to him.  Not now, not after everything she’d done.

He noticed her staring and shifted uncomfortably.  “I can go, if you want,” he offered, mistaking her epiphany for something else entirely.

“No—“ she said hastily.  “Stay.  Please—don’t go,” Clarke pleaded as her heart hammered in her chest.  “This is nice.  Talking, I mean.”

Bellamy looked at her strangely but lowered himself back to the floor.  Clarke swallowed her panic and managed to pick up the threads of their previous conversation and a half hour later they were lounging comfortably with Bellamy at her side.  He’d moved closer to her so they could pass the moonshine a little more easily, but now his presence was both agitating and relaxing her.  Clarke had spent more time than she could count in the past few months close enough to feel the heat from his body radiating toward her, but now it felt different.  He wasn’t just Bellamy anymore, he was  _Bellamy_.  Maybe he’d been that all along, but now she knew it and that knowledge made it hard to breathe.

But by the time the fire started to die down, the moonshine had made her brave.  “Tell me a secret,” she urged, her head propped up on her hand.  She was stretched out along the fire pit on her side and Bellamy mirrored her posture, his face just inches from her own.

He plucked the flask from her hand and took a swig.  “A secret?  Okay, let me think.”  Bellamy rolled to his back and watched the smoke disappearing out the small hole at the top of her cabin.  “I went after you.”

Clarke’s brain was fuzzy from the alcohol and at first, she was sure she misheard.  “You went after me?” she repeated.

“Maybe a week after you left.  I packed up my shit and was going to sneak out, but Raven stopped me.  Said that if I brought you back then, you’d just leave again.”  Bellamy kept his eyes on the sliver of stars visible through her chimney and swallowed hard.

“She was probably right,” Clarke admitted.  “I wasn’t ready.”  Hesitantly, she reached out and brushed a curl back from his forehead.

Bellamy looked at her then, his dark eyes so full of emotion her heart started to ache again.  She leaned over and pressed her lips to his, soft and chaste, and pulled back.  Bellamy tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and cupped her cheek in his palm, and Clarke knew that there was no going back now.

But for the first time in almost a year, she was certain.  This was right.


	70. Actor/Actress (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who wanted bellarke as actors.

Clarke picked at her fingernails, a move she knew would drive her agent nuts.

 

“Stop that,” Anya snapped.  “We’re talking about your future here.  I can sell you as America’s Sweetheart, or we can go the trainwreck-to-redemption route, but either way, if you want to keep getting work you have to play the game.  Get your name out there--get noticed.”

 

Clarke sighed.  “We both know you have a plan, so why don’t you just tell me what I’m going to be doing and save us the trouble?”

 

Anya gave her a look that could cut glass.  “Bellamy Blake.”

 

“The actor?” Clarke asked, trying to remember what she knew about him.  It wasn’t much--he was new to Hollywood and had made a minor splash on some cable show, where he spent most of his time shirtless and spattered in blood.  The show involved a lot of decapitations, but that was about all Clarke knew.

 

“No, the dentist.  Yes, the actor.  You’re going to be dating him for the next year.”

 

“What does he get out of it?”

 

“Everyone in America will want to know the name of the guy dating Abigail and Jake Griffin’s daughter.  It’s good press.  And the more people know him, the more he can book.  Honestly, sometimes you’re so dense it’s like you weren’t fucking born into this.”

 

“And me?  What do I get out of it?”  Clarke asked, even though they both knew she was going to say yes.  She was getting fewer scripts these days and if she wanted to keep working, she needed to do more than trade on her family name.

 

“Aside from owing me for keeping the whole ‘whoops my new boyfriend is actually engaged to a crew member on his show’ thing completely out of the tabloids?”  Anya narrowed her eyes.  “Six tabloid covers in the next twelve months.  Two fights, two engagements, one pregnancy scare, and one fluff piece.  If you’re in, you’re going to accidentally cross paths with Blake at the Young Hollywood party next week.”

 

“Do I have any other options?”  

 

“You can develop a cocaine problem and I can send you to rehab.  Or we can go the Jen-Brad-Angie route with you and Finn and whatsherface.  Are you in?”

 

Clarke took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  I’m in.”


	71. Actor/Actress (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alyssa-Kaminsky requested : “You fainted–right into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

 

The Young Hollywood party was the exact sort of party Clarke would have usually avoided.  A bunch of actors in their twenties–most of them drunk and/or high–trying to out-network each other while simultaneously preening for any available camera.  And it was approximately 9,000 degrees on this rooftop deck, thanks to a terrible combination of LA sun, black decor, and a total lack of a breeze.

But Clarke had to attend, because it was imperative that a few of the classier tabloids (which at this point meant “anyone but TMZ”) catch her meeting and flirting with Bellamy Blake.  She would have been more comfortable if they could have met some place neutral first, but Anya forbid it.  Any whiff of “we met at my publicist’s office” would scream “set up” to any gossip blogger or paparazzi with half a brain, so it had to seem legit.

Clarke muscled her way through the crowd, searching for a mop of curly dark hair.  She’d watched most of his show this past weekend, and she had to admit–it was good.  He was good.  The whole shirtless-with-a-sword thing really worked for him, but now she had to hope that he wasn’t a secret coke fiend or a real life Patrick Bateman.  She fanned herself, wishing desperately for some wind or some ice or something that would take away this I’m-about-to-melt feeling, and tried to ignore the way her corset-ish top squeezed her ribcage.  She would have to tell Anya that she was not wearing anything else by this designer until he learned what real live boobs actually needed.

She stopped and tried to catch her breath, because suddenly she’d gone from too-warm-and-a-little-winded to completely-unable-to-breathe.

The next thing Clarke knew, she was laying flat on her back with a pair of dark brown eyes looking down at her, concerned.  “She’s awake,” he announced to the crowd around them, and Clarke realized she was looking at her whole reason for being at this party.  “Think you can stand, princess?”

Clarke nodded and let him help her up.  “What happened?”

Bellamy shouldered his way through the crowd with a protective hand on her lower back.  “You fainted.  Right into my arms.”  He grinned and leaned closer.  “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Clarke giggled, conscious of the many sets of eyes on them, and Bellamy raised his eyebrows at two musclebound blond men sitting on a bench in the shade.  They took the hint and left, and Clarke sat down gratefully.

“Are you really okay though?” he asked, a little pointedly now that no one was quite close enough to listen.

“I’m not high,” she snapped back.  “Don’t worry, you’re not going to be saddled with a heroin addict.  It’s just hotter than balls up here and I’m wearing a top designed by a sadist with a real hatred of the female form.”

“Noted,” he said, much more easily.  “So are we doing this?”

Clarke shrugged.  “If we hate each other, we can always bail.  And really, we already get paid to pretend.  So it shouldn’t be that hard to act like we like each other at preapproved and strategically planned events.”

“Careful princess.  Keep talking like that and you’re going to sweep me off my feet,” Bellamy deadpanned.

Clarke smiled–a real, genuine one, not one for the photographers floating around the party who could snap a picture at any second–and he smiled back.

This wasn’t going to be so bad.


	72. Actor/Actress III

“So next month is a year,” Bellamy pointed out.

Clarke snuggled down deeper into her pillow.  “So?”

“So, that’s the official end of our contract,” Bellamy replied.

“Wait, what?  You–you want this to–do you want out?” Clarke stammered, shooting bolt upright.  The covers fell to her waist and his shirt slipped off her shoulder.  She stared at him, because he couldn’t possibly be saying what she thought he was saying.

At first, their relationship was exactly what it was meant to be–a chance for both of them to get their names in the tabloids, but under tightly controlled and favorable circumstances, doing bland, couple-y things.  They went out for ice cream (Anya called her pap friend and let him know the exact time and place) and had a few dinners at the Ivy.  Bellamy went with her to her premiere–a kind of insufferable “indie” comedy where she played the boring, straight laced girlfriend who was holding back the protagonist from achieving his artistic dreams by demanding he do things like “have a job” and “pay the bills” only to lose him to a much more understanding, free spirited girl who did stupid shit like pretend she could talk to birds because “they just understand me so well,” and honestly, Clarke was almost ashamed she was paid to be in it because you could not pay her enough to watch that garbage again– and covered her derisive snorts with loud coughs.  The tabloids kept up their end of the bargain, and published “rumors” that he had been seen ring shopping followed by “rumors” that they had been fighting on the set of his show, which served to keep any fans from thinking they were too serious.  A few nights a month Bellamy would stay in her guest room down the hall and get “caught” leaving in last night’s clothes by Anya’s friend.  Bellamy was a good friend and good partner in crime, and for the first few months, they were just playing the game.

But then they were leaving a party (thrown by his network for a reason Clarke could not remember or maybe never bothered to find out) and one of the photographers yelled out for them to kiss.  Bellamy looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she gave him a tiny nod.  So far the only photos anyone had of them involved hand holding and the occasional arm over her shoulder, and they should probably step up their game if they wanted to keep selling this romance.

So he kissed her, but then they couldn’t stop.  They managed to break apart and wave sheepishly to the photographers (the photos went viral that night; Anya was thrilled) and by the time the limo pulled in front of her Italian-style villa, his tie was undone and Clarke had to straighten the straps on her dress before they could get out.

From then on, their relationship entered fairly murky waters.  There was the contract side–the outings, the premieres, the hand holding while walking Khaleesi, Clarke’s Siberian Husky, down carefully planned streets where the paparazzi knew to wait–and then there was the other side.  The mornings when Bellamy wouldn’t get caught sneaking out of her place because they spent all day in bed together, ordering take out and mocking scripts their agents sent over, the days she would go visit him on set because she hadn’t seen him in almost a week and missed him.  They had never really discussed the end of the contract, and Clarke had just assumed things would continue on as they were.  

But now, her heart was in her stomach, because it sounded like he wanted out.

Bellamy sat up, his brow furrowed.  “What?  Christ, no.  I just thought–I mean, the contract is almost over, and when it is, it might be sort of nice not to have to do that shit.  For the paparazzi, I mean.  I don’t mind walking Khaleesi, I think I’d just like to do it without fourteen middle aged men shouting at me.”

“Oh.”

Bellamy smiled and kissed her, his breath still a little stale from sleep.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, just–what do we tell Anya and Shumway?”  Clarke was pretty sure she could manage Anya, but Bellamy’s agent was a shark who didn’t take no for an answer.  It worked pretty well for Bellamy–it got him a major role in an upcoming superhero flick that would definitely bankroll him for the rest of his life–but he was kind of difficult to deal with.  And by difficult, she meant “borderline impossible.”

“We tell them the premieres are still on, but the staged candids are out.  They won’t like it, but their other option is dropping us, and–well, I don’t think either of them would risk that much money over something like this.  Especially if we go in as a united front.  What do you say, princess?”

Clarke pressed her forehead against his.  “I say they won’t know what hit them.”


	73. angst III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of the angst universe (aka secretary/boss), chapters 50 and 51.

Clarke kept Bellamy trapped between her knees for one more moment, tangling her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.  The edge of his desk bit into her thighs and sweat glistened on his neck.  Bellamy kissed her softly and started helping her rebutton her blouse.

“What time is the opening tonight?” he asked as she took over and he buckled his belt.

“Eight.  But I have to be there at seven,” Clarke said.

Bellamy looked around for a moment until he found his tie.  Clarke took it from his hands and tucked it under his collar for him.  “My last meeting is done at six-thirty,” Bellamy explained.

“That’s perfect–you’ll have plenty of time to eat dinner before you swing by the gallery.”  Clarke finished tying his tie and Bellamy stepped back to let her hop off the desk.

“When are you going to eat?”

She waved him off dismissively.  “I’ll grab something on my way.  There’ll be food there too.”

He took her face in his hands and smiled.  “I’m happy for you, you know,” he said earnestly, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones.

Clarke scoffed but rolled up on her toes to kiss him anyway.  “You’re just relieved you’re not my boss anymore,” she teased.

“True,” he mumbled against her lips.  “But I’m happy for you too.”


	74. Reincarnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a list of reincarnation aus. Trigger warning: character deaths. 
> 
> (Also: yikes. Sorry for this.)

I

He is a gladiator and she is an empress, their eyes meeting amidst the screams of the crowd.  

She watches in agonized silence, the most powerful woman in the known world, but powerless to stop the sands from drinking his lifeblood.

 

II

She is a princess in a stone castle; he is a warrior intent on plunder.

His leader gives her a choice–become a prize of war, or die with her people.

She chooses death.

 

III

He is but a knight, sworn to her service.  She gives him her favor as he marches off to capture the Holy Land, her token the only gift she can bestow upon him.

He dies clutching it in his fist, as if it could save him.

 

IV

The ocean is no place for a woman, they say.

But she leads them to riches and glory again and again, so they bow to her, their pirate queen.

It is a sudden squall that takes her, not battle like he feared.

The ocean is no place for a woman, he says, watching helplessly from shore.

 

V

Stealing from the bank was reckless, but stealing from the mobster was suicide.

They go down in a hail of bullets, side by side.

 

VI

 _Come with me_ , he pleads.   _The bombs are coming_.

 _I can’t_ , she replies.   _Not without my family_.

The bombs take her first.

 

VII

She stops him with a warning on her lips but he sneers at her caution.

Either they will survive the ground, or they won’t.

Their eyes meet across the metal container that plummeted to earth, and for a moment, they know each other.

But only for a moment.


	75. You did what? (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to chapter 67, based on a request from lackingstealth.

Bellamy wasn’t her best friend.  

Not by a long shot.  That honor went to Wells, with Raven and Monty right behind.  But he was a good friend–a very good friend–and Clarke was glad to have him around.

Especially right now, with the thunder and lightning cracking every few seconds and the lights flickering on and off.  The storm was just threatening to break when Bellamy texted to let her know he was going to swing by and drop off the books she’d loaned him, and by the time he made it to her apartment the clouds had gone from ominous to downright apocalyptic.  And now it was pouring out while the wind lashed the rain against the windows.

Bellamy was saying something–something to do with his plan for surviving zombies, which wasn’t that weird of a topic considering she loaned him  _World War Z_ –when an enormous crash sounded just outside her window with an accompanying flash of purplish-green light.  Clarke’s apartment was plunged into darkness and the hum of her air conditioner stopped.  They both ran to her window and saw the tree from across the street–that huge oak tree Clarke liked to paint in autumn–was now lying across the exit to her parking lot.  Wires sparked dangerously underneath it.

“Looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while,” Bellamy observed.  “That okay?”

Clarke shrugged.  “It’s fine.  Want a beer?”  Bellamy nodded and she walked toward her kitchen, doing her best to hide the way she flinched every time thunder clapped.  It wasn’t that she was scared of storms, per se, but she didn’t like them much.  Having Bellamy here kept her occupied.

Within twenty minutes, Clarke had almost managed to forget the storm raging outside her window.  The power was still out, but it was only late afternoon so there was just enough light to make out Bellamy’s shape sitting at the other end of the couch.  He drained the last dregs of his beer and she took it from him to drop it into the recycling along with hers.  They’d long since finished their zombie debate and had moved into dissecting the group dynamic–namely, Miller’s crush on Monty and whether or not it was reciprocated.

“I think Miller needs to just go for it.  I know Monty’s hard to read, but I promise, it’s there.  He’s our Jane Bennett–he’s nice to everyone, but he’s  _especially_  nice to Miller,” Clarke said as she returned.

“Speaking of Miller,” Bellamy said, but then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Speaking of Miller what?” Clarke asked and sat back down on the couch.  Maybe she was a little closer than she was before, but whatever.  They were friends.

Good friends.

Bellamy kept his eyes averted.  “He, uh, he thought he interrupted something.  When you were over last weekend.”

Clarke’s heart rate sped up.  She knew what Bellamy was referring to–that moment of frission between them that had set her stomach fluttering as they stood in Bellamy’s kitchen, bantering and cleaning up the dishes from their dinner.  (Fine, they had dinner together.  But only because Clarke stopped by to see if he wanted to go out to the bar around the corner with her and he happened to have enough Chinese for two.  That wasn’t weird.  They were _friends_.)

Miller had walked in just as Bellamy handed her a dish to dry, and honestly, part of her had wondered if something would have happened if Miller hadn’t come home just then.  The way Bellamy looked at her in that moment was enough to make her skin tingle, but then Miller was asking what was up and the moment was gone.  It happened so fast Clarke convinced herself she was imagining it.

But maybe she hadn’t.

“Right,” Clarke said, because what can you say to that?

Bellamy leveled his gaze at her.  “I told him maybe.  Is that–was that wrong?”

Clarke swallowed thickly.  “I don’t think so.”  Just about every one of their friends had commented on their chemistry to her, after all.  They’d probably said the same to him.  She smiled at him.  “We could always give it a shot.  See if they’re right.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Are you sure?” Bellamy asked.  

Clark was glad it was so dark.  It was easier to be brave, easier to pretend she wasn’t blushing madly.  “Do you want to?”

“Why not?”  His words hung in the air for a only moment before he was on top of her, trapping her lips with his.  Clarke let him press her back against the couch and brushed their tongues together.  Bellamy had a bit of a reputation in their group and already his kissing was living up to it.  (Then again, if Clarke had really thought about it she might have noticed that in the four years she’d known him, he’d had one long term relationship that ended when Echo moved out of state for a job and that was it.  Not really the playboy Jasper imagined him to be.)

By the time the storm blew itself out, they were lying tangled and sweaty in each other’s arms on Clarke’s couch and she knew that this was no where near enough to get it out of her system.  They way he touched her, the very way he breathed her name in her ear when he was inside of her set her skin on fire.  “So that happened,” he mumbled from where his head lay pillowed on her breasts.  His lips tickled her skin and she giggled.

“It did.”

Bellamy lifted his head to look at her.  “Should we tell them?  Or…” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“We can keep this between us.  I mean, it’s just sex,” Clarke assured him.  It wasn’t that she  _minded_  their friends knowing, but Bellamy seemed uneasy.

He crawled up to hover over her.  “So this.  Is this…a one-time thing?”

Clarke shrugged.  “Doesn’t have to be.  I’m not seeing anyone.”

Bellamy leaned down and kissed her softly.  “Good.”


	76. Museum guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From rumaan's prompt of Bellamy as a museum guide.

The first time Clarke noticed him, she was in the Greek room, sketching the statue of Aphrodite.  He led a group of retirees through, explaining in detail both the myths behind the statues and the process by which treasure hunters recovered the statue in the early nineteenth century.  She tried not to smile when he launched into an explanation of why works of art like this deserved to be repatriated to their country of origin, because the passion in his voice was undeniable.

The second time, she was in the Egyptian room, trying to get down the exact detail on a cartouche.  This time it was a pack of second graders trailing after him, eagerly asking him to explain once more how mummies had their brains pulled out their noses (which he did, in graphic detail.  The kids shrieked with joy and once more, Clarke had to hide her grin.)

The third time, she was in the Renaissance room.  She wasn’t sketching this time, just soaking in the colors and wondering if she would ever be able to paint something half as beautiful.  She didn’t even notice him come in until he was sitting next to her, looking at the same Da Vinci painting.  

“Hey,” she said a little shyly.  

He looked at her and smiled, equally shyly.  “Hey.”

“I’ve heard your tours.  Well, parts of them.  You’re good.”

“Thanks.  I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

“Clarke.”  

He nodded respectfully and they lapsed into silence, but not an awkward silence.  It was the sort of moment you would normally share with a close friend, the sort of moment where neither of you are saying anything because you really don’t need to.

Clarke was studying the way Da Vinci shaded the folds of the Virgin Mary’s gown when Bellamy finally spoke again.  “This might seem out of nowhere, but…would you want to get coffee sometime?”

She kept her eyes on the painting and smiled.  “I’d love to.  You busy right now?”  When she turned to look at him, his smile was almost blinding.

“Not at all.  There’s a coffee shop in the lobby, or else there’s a Starbucks down the street.”

Clarke stood and slung her purse over her shoulder.  “The lobby sounds perfect.  Lead the way.”


	77. Hospice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out of a conversation that I had with marycontrary82, who wanted something hospice related but not, you know, *too* sad.

Clarke’s mother couldn’t believe it when she took a job as a hospice nurse. _After what we went through with your father?_ she’d asked.   _I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t watch people die like that._

But for Clarke, that was exactly why she wanted to do this–bring comfort to people in their last moments, help families through the hardest time of their lives.  She knew with awful clarity exactly what they were going through, and she cherished the ability to help them in their darkest moments.

Besides, most of their patients were elderly and Clarke had a way with them, especially the old men who gave the other nurses are hard time.  She had spent two years–two difficult but fulfilling years–working in hospice before a patient arrived that had her wondering if she should take her mother up on her offer of a regular med/surg post.

Because Clarke had seen a lot of hard cases in her two years, but nothing was harder for her than Bellamy Blake.  He was just a few years older than her, and his only family was a fiercely devoted little sister and her soft-spoken but imposing husband.   _Congenital heart defect,_  Bellamy told her one morning as she took his vitals.   _Got my mom too.  I’m on the list, but too far down.  At least O doesn’t have it._

He was handsome despite the illness giving his skin a grey pallor, and even dying didn’t seem to sap the spark from his dark brown eyes.  And he was a flirt, always tugging on her scrubs and making her lean down so he could whisper in her ear.   _If I wasn’t dying, I’d be begging you to go out with me._  She’d chuckled at him then, playing along, but that night she broke down in her car, sobbing like her heart was tearing itself out of her chest.

She started breaking the rules a little, spending more time with him than strictly necessary, and even staying late one evening when Octavia had to work an overnight shift.  They spent the night watching old black and white movies ( _See?  I’m a romantic.  If it wasn’t for the whole imminent death thing, you’d be totally into me_ ) and laughing.  It was, quite frankly, the best first date she’d been on in years, a fact he pointed out after he’d kicked his morphine drip up a few notches.  _If I wasn’t almost dead, I’d take you on a second date.  A real one, at a restaurant with tablecloths and candles and all that romantic shit._

The day she came to work and saw that his room was empty, she lost it.  Harper found her sobbing raggedly in the break room, desperately trying to pull herself together.  “Didn’t you get the call?” Harper said softly, putting her arm around Clarke’s shaking shoulders.  “He got a heart.  They took him to the hospital late last night–he’s probably in surgery by now.”

Clarke looked at Harper disbelievingly and her sobs transformed into an almost-laugh.  “You’re kidding me,” she said.

Harper smiled and shook her head.  “Not at all.  He left you this, by the way.”  She slipped a piece of paper into Clarke’s hand and headed out.

_Clarke,_

_Assuming I’m not dead by tomorrow, you’re going to owe me that second date._

_–Bellamy_


	78. Hospice II

Clarke pressed the doorbell and waited.  A dog immediately started barking behind the door, and Clarke could hear Octavia yelling for him to shut up.  Octavia opened the door, a black lab circling excitedly around her feet, and her face immediately crumpled.  Without a second thought Clarke set her heavy tote bag on the floor and pulled the younger woman into a tight hug.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Octavia sobbed.  “I just--you bring back memories, you know?  And I never thought he’d pull through, and now he’s--”

 

“I know, I know,” Clarke soothed, stroking Octavia’s long, dark hair.

 

Finally Octavia pulled back and wiped her cheeks.  “Sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed these days.  Come on--he’s going to be pissed that I kept you down here for so long.”

 

Clarke picked her bag back up and followed Octavia up the stairs.  Bellamy’s room was at the end of the hall and his smile when she walked through the door made her heart skip a beat.  “I thought that was you,” he observed as Octavia quietly ducked out of the room and shut the door.  “It’s the scar, isn’t it?” he teased, tugging aside his shirt to bare the bright pink scar splitting his sternum in two.  “Chicks dig scars.  So did you come to beg me for that second date?”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes at him even as she giggled.  “I did you one better.”  She set the bag down and started pulling out the containers.  “I brought the second date to you.”

 

They didn’t have a tablecloth (Bellamy was pretty much still stuck in bed) but Clarke did have a small candle that she set on his nightstand, and a vase of flowers that went on his dresser.  She brought lasagna and spaghetti bolognese from Indra’s Italian Bistro (Bellamy’s favorite--Octavia had brought him dinner from there at least once a week when he was in hospice, and usually more often than that) and a movie for them to watch.

 

“Terminator 2?  Really?” he asked around a mouthful of spaghetti as she put it in the dvd player.

 

“I figured we were past the whole impressing-each-other phase and it was time we got real,” she explained.

 

A half hour into the movie, Bellamy took her hand from where it rested on the edge of his bed and brought it to his lips, pressing the lightest of kisses to her knuckles.  An hour in, he scooted over and patted the empty space next to him as an invitation.  She kissed him gently and he smiled against her lips.  “Just you wait, princess.  Once I get my strength back, we’re going to spend an entire weekend in bed.  And not watching movies.”

 

Two hours later, Octavia snuck in and switched off the tv, leaving them to sleep in peace.


	79. Swingset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lightning5 requested wicken + "the paint is supposed to go where?"

“I’m still not convinced we’re doing this right,” Wick complained.

“I designed this sucker.  It’s right.  Keep going,” Raven ordered.

“I don’t understand why you got to design it. I’m the engineer.”

“Yeah, and we’ve established that your designs are generally impossible.  Come on–the kid could be here any day.  Get moving.”

“Clarke said she’s not due for another week,” Wick pointed out.  “And I highly doubt she’ll be putting her baby on an automated swingset the day the kid’s born.”  He sat back on his heels and surveyed his work.  “Okay, so the white paint’s supposed to go…”

Raven laced her fingers over her swollen belly and propped her feet up on the other chair.  “The sides.  Then you’ll add the racing stripes with the red Lincoln’s making us right now.”

“I still maintain you could help,” he said, pushing himself off the floor and kissing his girlfriend’s cheek.

“I could.  But you  knocked me up, which means I have a get out of jail free card for the next three months.  Come on, chop chop.  Because when you’re finished with this, you’ve got another one to make.”  

Wick rolled his eyes at her and she stuck her tongue out at him, settling back to watch him work.


	80. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: Bellarke: "I make the costumes and you keep bringing yours back for adjustments-how many times can someone 'accidentally' rip a seam?"

“Again?  Seriously, princess?” Bellamy groused when Clarke waltzed into his office backstage.

Clarke shrugged and peeled off the perfect Elizabethan replica he had spent weeks creating.  “Too tight.  The waist ripped when I bent to pick up the letter.”

Bellamy frowned at her, because he’d made it to her exact measurements.  Okay, so the darts around the waist were maybe a little tighter than he originally planned, but he had meant to give her a good clean line onstage.  “All right, hand it over,” he grumbled.  

Clarke shimmied out of it and lifted it up to her hand with her toes.  Bellamy was used to actors stripping in front of him (he had practically grown up backstage, helping his mother with the same tasks he handled now) but he still lost all the air in his lungs whenever he was faced with Clarke in nothing but her bra and panties.  He was starting to feel like she did this on purpose–swanning into his office once everyone else was packing up to go home with a nitpick or tiny rip in her costume.

“I just need a little more room,” she said, her own eyes dragging up and down his body.  She handed him the soft material but didn’t draw away, standing just a hairsbreadth from him.  Her fingers trailed up his forearm and he gave in, wrapping his hands around her wrist and yanking her against him.  She met him as he leaned down to kiss her, the dress falling to the floor, forgotten.  


	81. Classmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon who wanted Clarke and Bellamy as classmates.

Clarke shuffled in to Mr. Kane’s first period class, late as usual.  She didn’t used to be this way–before, she was early to class.  Paid attention.  Sat in the first row, answered questions, did her homework.

Before her father died, she thought shit like that mattered.

She kept her hood up and slouched into a seat in the last row.  Bellamy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.  Kane started droning on about god knows what and Clarke rested her head on her desk, asleep within seconds.

“Miss Griffin?”  Clarke jerked her head up at the sound of her name, disoriented.  “Any thoughts on why Hector chose to face Achilles?”  She stared at Kane blankly and shrugged.  He would be pissed, but she didn’t care.

“Honor,” Bellamy interjected.  “Honor and family.  And it’s part of Homer’s broader theme of finding honor in your enemies, since  _The Iliad_  was performed for Greek audiences but the Trojans come across as far more noble than the Greeks.”

Kane raised his eyebrows at Clarke but accepted Bellamy’s answer and moved on.  Clarke looked over at Bellamy and risked a tiny smile.  Her first smile in months, really. His dark eyes were understanding and with a start she remembered a pretty, dark haired woman’s photo in the newspaper a year ago over a story about a tragic car accident.   _Thanks_ , she mouthed at him.  He nodded again, and she put her head back down.

At the end of the class, she woke to find a stack of notepaper resting on her backpack.   _Kane will kill you if you pull that again, but I’m sure if you answer at least one question tomorrow he’ll let you off the hook_ , the top piece said.  She rifled through the papers and realized they were Bellamy’s notes from class, written in his neat, block lettered handwriting.  

Bellamy had already left, but for the first time in a long time, Clarke didn’t feel quite so alone.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> existential-crisis-katie requested Raven/Wick and "You heard me. Take. It. Off."

“How the fuck do you put this thing on?” Wick asked, still lounging on her cot.

“Put what on, your pants?  Pretty sure even an engineer can figure that out,” she snarked.  She was wearing his shirt and sitting at her makeshift desk as she fiddled with the radio.  Raven had never been much for cuddling, although she was willing to make an exception for Wick.  But when an idle comment of his helped her finally figure out why the damn radio had just stopped working, she had to jump out of bed and fix it before her breakthrough slipped away.

“No,  _this_ ,” Wick corrected, and when Raven looked over her shoulder she found him with her sports bra halfway on, his head poking out from somewhere near the arm hole.

“Goddammit, take that off,” she grumbled, abandoning her work.  “You’re going to stretch it out.”

“No, I mean, seriously–how the fuck do you get this on every morning?  Are you some sort of wizard?”

“Nope, just a mechanic with working brain cells.  But you heard me–take. it. off.”

Wick grinned mischievously.  “Or what, you’ll come over here and make me?”

She stopped in front of him and rolled her eyes.  “Fine, take it off and we’ll cuddle for another five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Seven.  And I’m starting my goddamn watch.”

Wick obediently pulled her sports bra off, setting it down carefully with the rest of her clothes, and scooted over.  Raven sat down on the edge of her cot and awkwardly swung her legs up.  Wick pulled her close and Raven relaxed against his chest.

(She didn’t start her watch.  But don’t tell him that).


	83. Unity Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just your usual what-if drabble, set in season one. What if Finn came to find Clarke a just little later in the Unity Day party?

Clarke surrendered her place in the game after her second loss and stepped away from the table, the moonshine making her feel warm and invincible.  It was almost over.  Her mother was coming down, with the guard and actual adults who could take charge of the Grounder situation.  The hell they had been through, the losses they suffered–they didn’t have to bear it anymore.

For the first time since she overheard her parents fighting about the future of the Ark, Clarke felt almost light.  Carefree.  Like she was a teenager, not the overburdened leader of a group of ill-prepared and rapidly dying delinquents.  The light from the fire threw shadows dancing across the ground and Clarke caught her foot on a root and stumbled.

Someone grabbed her elbow to steady her and a familiar laugh rumbled near her ear.  “Careful,” Bellamy warned.  “Enjoying yourself?”

His fingers stayed wrapped around her elbow even though she’d stopped moving.  She leaned back against the cool metal of the dropship and grinned up at him.  “I am.  You?”

Bellamy’s lips quirked up in that lopsided smile.  “I am.  It’s good to see you having fun.  You deserve it,” he said, echoing their earlier conversation.

Clarke curled her fingers into the front of his jacket and tugged him closer.  “You do too, you know.  Deserve to have fun, I mean.”

Bellamy bent his head, bringing his lips just inches from hers.  “Did you have something particular in mind?”

Clarke captured his lower lip between her teeth and nipped lightly.  “Maybe.”

Bellamy smiled against her lips and grabbed her hand.  “Come on.  Before anyone notices us and suddenly has a crisis for us to solve,” he ordered and led her around the edge of camp, lifting up the back flap of his tent and ushering her inside.

Clarke tossed her jacket to the ground and giggled.  “So this is it, huh?”

Bellamy shed his own jacket and knelt to unlace his boots.  “This is what?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Bellamy Blake’s Famous Sex Den,” she teased, hopping on one foot rather ungracefully as she tugged off her boots.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her.  “Sex den, huh?”  In one swift move he wrapped an arm behind her knees and tackled her to the ground, hovering over her on his thick stack of furs.  Clarke laughed out loud and tried to flip them, but he kept his weight on her, trapping her.  And then his lips were on hers and her laughter died in her throat, replaced by a fire inside of her that put Monty’s moonshine to shame.

It was sloppy, all clashing teeth and giggles and arms trapped in shirts that simply refused to come off easily, but eventually there was nothing between them but skin, warm and smooth under her fingers as she braced herself above him and sank onto his cock.  His lips still tasted like her and Clarke knew she would never forget the feel of his tongue on her clit while her hands tangled in his curls, soft against her palm.  He laced his fingers with hers while she rode him, his dark eyes black in the dim light from the bonfire outside, and by the time she came a second time his breath was raspy and uneven as he let go inside of her.

Miller found them on the edge of sleep, Clarke’s head resting directly over Bellamy’s heart.  “Uh, Finn’s looking for you,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted.  “Clarke, I mean.  He’s pretty insistent that it just be you, though.”

Clarke kissed Bellamy’s jaw and reached for her clothes.  “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she instructed Miller.  When she was dressed she kissed Bellamy once more.  “I’ll come find you if I need you,” she told him, and slipped out of his tent to handle this one last crisis.


	84. Domestic fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on funkygoose's request for domestic bellarke with lots of fluff.

Clarke was prepared for many things when Bellamy moved into her cabin. She knew he snored something terrible, and she knew his allergies in spring made him irritated and grumpy. She knew he liked to read for an hour before bed, and she knew he liked to keep things very neat and clean.

What she was not prepared for--but really, in retrospect, she should have been--was how much Bellamy liked to cuddle.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know that about him before he moved in (they’d been together for almost a year at that point) but she thought it was bred of her habit of getting up early and heading back to her cabin in the mornings. She figured that once they lived together, he would feel less compelled to keep her locked in his arms.

She was wrong.

So, so wrong.

Clarke curled into him when she woke in the dim morning light. It was getting cold at night now, and she enjoyed the way heat radiated off of him. “Morning,” he mumbled in her ear.

“Morning,” she replied, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. His arms encircled her and pulled her closer. “When the frost melts today I want to take Harper and Jackson out for one last foraging. We don’t know how long the weather will hold, and I want to make sure we’re prepared before the snow comes. I don’t want a repeat of last winter.”

Bellamy shifted to draw her across his chest and she tangled their legs together. “‘Kay.” His fingers worked through her hair, soft and reassuring.

“I’m not getting out of this bed any time soon, am I?” she asked. She trailed her finger across his chest idly, not really wanting to leave either.

“Nope.” Bellamy’s other arm banded around her waist, keeping her close.

“Then I might go back to sleep.” Clarke rested her head on his chest, the feel of his fingers brushing against her scalp already lulling her into a doze.

“No arguments here,” he said, his lips pressed to the crown of her head.

Clarke drifted back to sleep, safe and warm in his embrace.


	85. Dido (the cat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary82 requested: "Everyone fears my horrible/badly behaved/unusual pet so I'm confused that it seems to like you so much."

When Bellamy adopted the meanest cat at the humane society, Octavia just rolled her eyes.  “Figures,” she scoffed.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, holding the wriggling, hissing ball of fur in his arms.  

“Nothing,” she muttered.  “You just sort of have a thing for difficult people.  And animals, apparently.”

Octavia was probably right, but Bellamy fell in love with the standoffish grey cat the moment he met her anyway.  The rest of his friends, however, were not huge fans of Dido.  “Like the singer?” Monty asked, puzzled, when Bellamy announced her name.  

“No.  Like the Queen of Carthage,” Bellamy grumbled.

“Whoever she’s named after, she’s kind of a bitch,” Miller observed.  “I mean, that cat hates everyone.”  Bellamy took umbrage at his wording, but Miller was not wrong.  Dido hissed and spat at anyone who wasn’t Bellamy, and only indicated that Octavia was her second favorite by hiding under wherever Octavia sat on the couch.  But around Bellamy, Dido was cuddly, always insisting on being on his lap when he was supposed to be writing his dissertation and sleeping at the foot of his bed.

He not-so-secretly sort of liked that Dido hated everyone but him.   

But then Raven dragged her new friend Clarke over for movie night and to everyone’s everlasting shock, Dido didn’t hiss or fluff up her fur at the newcomer.  Hell, she didn’t even run away.  No, the moment Clarke sat down on the couch, Dido jumped into her lap, circled twice, and sat down.  And there she remained like a goddamn traitor through the entire movie.

(When Clarke moved in two years later, Dido started sleeping at Clarke’s feet instead of his.  But he didn’t care.  Much.)


	86. Clarke's Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dohaeragon and two anons requested "Yeah, yeah, I know how this goes. I'll grab my clothes and get out of here."

Bellamy really should have known better.

Especially because he’d been doing so good at holding out and not giving in to his absolutely pointless crush on Clarke.

Ever since the double catastrophe of Finn followed by Lexa, Clarke had sworn off relationships.   _I’m just going to get a cat for companionship and have a bunch of meaningless one night stands instead,_  she had announced shortly after Lexa walked out on her with barely a word.  And Clarke had done just that–she had a tiny black cat named Lucy Maud Montgomery and tended to bring a different man or woman home with her whenever she went out on the prowl, all of whom left the next morning before breakfast.   _I’m always upfront about it so they don’t expect anything more.  So far, so good,_  she had explained to Bellamy one night as they stood at a bar, Clarke eyeing up the leggy brunette to their left.  (She wasn’t interested in women but ended up giving Bellamy her phone number, because Clarke was nothing if not an excellent wingwoman.  Bellamy never called the brunette, because of the aforementioned pathetically pointless crush on his friend.)

But then he went out with Clarke one night–as usual–and she wasn’t having any luck.  So he bought her a shot as consolation and she dragged him to the dance floor, laughing and winding her arms around his neck.  Bellamy could have blamed the whiskey and coke he’d just finished for his recklessness, but the truth was he wasn’t anywhere near drunk and neither was she.  He was just an idiot who kissed his friend on a bar dance floor at one in the morning for no reason other than she was beautiful when she laughed.

He really, really should have known better.

Because the second she ran her tongue along his lower lip, Bellamy was lost.  He had spent the better part of two years (from her last three months with Finn and through the entire Lexa debacle) wanting her, and now he would never, ever be the same.  She tangled her fingers in the curls at the base of his neck and smiled against his lips.  “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested, and even though Bellamy knew he was risking their friendship, he took her hand and followed, because he couldn’t say no when she was offering everything he’d ever wanted.

He laid on his side and watched her sleeping peacefully, wishing he could erase his memories of the night before.  If he could forget the way she dug her nails into the muscles of his back, or the way she tasted, or how her eyes fluttered shut when she sank down onto him for the first and only time in his life, maybe then he could go on pretending that this was nothing instead of everything.

Clarke blinked sleepily and Bellamy rolled to his back, steeling himself.  “Hey,” she said quietly, her voice a little hoarse.  “So–”

“Yeah yeah, I know how this goes.  I’ll grab my clothes and get out of here,” he told the ceiling, because looking at her would be too painful.

Clarke pushed herself up on one elbow.  “What?”

“I know your rules, okay?  I’ll be out of here soon.”  Clarke usually didn’t even let her one night stands spend the night, but last night they were both so exhausted they fell asleep still tangled in each other’s arms.  He probably should have left as soon as he woke up, but he couldn’t bring himself to.  He rolled to the side and swung his legs off the edge, still avoiding her gaze.

“What are you talking about?  My rules?”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  “For one night stands.  I know, I shouldn’t have stayed.  Sorry.”

The mattress shifted as Clarke moved closer to him.  She placed a hand on his shoulder and Bellamy worried his heart was about to break.  “Bellamy, this wasn’t–I thought you knew.”  Her lips pressed to the top of his spine.  “I don’t want you to go. Not now, maybe not ev–maybe not for a long time.”

Bellamy turned to look at her, hardly daring to hope.  “Do you mean it?”

Clarke kissed him gently.  “Of course.”


	87. You Are My People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A combination of bobthellama5's request for Lincoln getting protective of Clarke because "You are my people," and rumaan's request for Lincoln sets Bellamy up with Clarke to get Bellamy off his back re Octavia because Lincoln knows Clarke is terrifying.

  
“Let me get this straight–you give me her number, practically force me to ask her out, and now you’re  _mad_  that I’m taking her on a second date?”  Bellamy crossed his arms and glared at his sister’s boyfriend–correction,  _fiance–_  who just glared back at him.

“I’m not mad.  Just questioning your motives.”

“My motives?   _My_  motives?  You’re the twenty nine year old planning on marrying a girl right out of college.”

“Your sister is an adult.”  Lincoln was implacable as always.

“So is Clarke,” Bellamy countered.  “And you didn’t raise her.”

“She’s my friend.”

Bellamy ran his hands through his hair and sighed.  “If you didn’t want me to go out with her, why did you set us up?”  For the first time since they started this argument, Lincoln looked uncomfortable.  “Unless–did you think we wouldn’t work?”

“She can be a challenge,” Lincoln admitted.

“Holy shit.  That’s it, isn’t it?  You thought we’d tear each other to pieces.”  Bellamy decided not to mention just how close he and Clarke had come to ripping each other to shreds on their ill-fated first date.  She struck him as the sort of stuck-up princess he loathed, and she immediately sensed his hostility.  It wasn’t until a waitress commented that she couldn’t tell whether or not they hated or loved each other that Bellamy realized a full two hours had passed and he hadn’t taken his eyes off her once.  Truth be told, he was as surprised as she was when he called to ask her on a second date, but she laughingly agreed and told him that this time, she was picking the restaurant.  (That had been their first fight of the evening.  There were five more before the check arrived.)  More than anything, he was annoyed that Lincoln’s plan had worked–in the week since he met Clarke, he’d thought of little else.  In fact, he hadn’t yelled at either Octavia or Lincoln about the engagement since then either.

Lincoln crossed his arms and looked Bellamy up and down.  “I thought you liked a challenge.”

“Maybe I do.  I’m still taking her on that second date.”

“I’m still marrying your sister.”

Octavia walked into the room, looked at them, sighed heavily, and left without another word.


	88. The Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary82 and an anon requested, "Do you have any idea how wrong this is?"

Bellamy was still inside of her when the guilt returned.  “This has to be the last time,” she murmured in his ear, but she kept her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs locked behind his back.

He pulled out and helped her set her feet on the floor.  Her legs still felt like jelly in the aftermath of her orgasm, but the muscle in Bellamy’s jaw was already ticking.  “You said that last time.  And the time before.”  He strode across his cramped quarters and started picking up their clothes, tossing hers toward her.  “And I already told you, I don’t give a damn what your heda wants.”

Clarke shimmied into her pants and gritted her teeth.  They had this fight every time, and every time she swore she was done with him.  She had made her choice, and her sanctuary with Lexa rested entirely on Clarke cutting her ties to the Ark completely.  But sooner or later she would find herself darting through the back streets of Polis and slipping into the cabin he’d been assigned.  “Do you have any idea how wrong this is?  If we’re found out, the negotiations are over.”

“Don’t put this on me, princess.  You came to me.”

She didn’t expect that nickname to land like a punch to the gut, but it did.  And Bellamy was right–every time, it was Clarke who broke.  It was Clarke who kissed him that night when they ran into each other in the back streets of Polis.  He hadn’t even recognized her at first, and his jaw clenched angrily when his eyes took in her intricate braids and the dark, smeared makeup under her eyes.  But Lexa had been clear on her terms–Clarke could escape her past so long as she never went back.  At the time, exhausted and alone, Clarke wanted nothing more than to become someone else, so she agreed without a second thought.  Finn’s blood had not even dried on her hands and she was already drenched in more, so becoming someone else–anyone else–seemed preferable to remaining Clarke of the Sky People, Murderer.  

But then Bellamy roared back into her life, helping Kane negotiate a new treaty with Lexa.  Clarke had done her best to avoid them and Lexa kept her word, letting no whisper of Clarke’s presence reach the Sky People, but Bellamy had a habit of exploring places he wasn’t supposed to be, and Clarke had a habit of letting people she shouldn’t into her heart and then they were standing face to face in a darkened alley, nothing but moonlight between them.

Clarke’s heart stopped in that moment, and it was only when he was inside of her, his fingers catching on her braids, that she felt like it might start beating again.   “This was the last time,” she repeated, even though they both knew it was a lie.

And just like every time before, Bellamy swallowed back his anger and nodded. “The last time.”


	89. The Last Time (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a few anon requests for a part II, and inspired by it-had-to-be-written's post about Bellamy undoing Grounder!Clarke's makeup and braids.

“Come home,” Bellamy said softly.  “Please.”

 

 _Please_.  That wasn’t a word Bellamy said easily or often, and now he was saying it to her again.   _Please_.  

 

The first time, she was beyond feeling, beyond pain.  Clarke of the Sky People no longer existed, just a monster with a hole where her heart should be.  That time, Bellamy’s broken please stabbed at her like a knife but compared to the open wounds littering her soul, it barely registered.

 

This time, it caught in her ribcage and lodged inside her heart.   _Come home.  Please_.

 

“I can’t.  That’s not who I am anymore,” she protested.  The negotiations were over and Bellamy was set to leave in the morning, bringing back the promise of a lasting peace between the Trikru and the Sky People.  He had done what she couldn’t, despite everything she sacrificed, and now he was asking her to do the impossible.   _Come home.  Please_.

 

“I can’t,” she said again, tears welling behind her eyes.  She hadn’t cried since she walked away from Camp Jaha, because if she let herself crack even a little, she would never be able to put herself together again.  She had found solace in Polis, in becoming someone new.  The braids, the makeup--they were her armor; proof that she was no longer Clarke of the Sky People, drenched in blood.  She could survive by looking forward, not back.  She drew the furs more tightly around her bare shoulders.  “Promise me you won’t tell them I’m here.”

 

Bellamy sat up off her cot and shook his head.  He had come to her this time, stealing into her cabin the black of night to tell her he was leaving at first light and kissing her so tenderly her heart threatened to shatter.  It was so different from the harsh, angry couplings that had characterized his time in Polis. “You know I can’t promise that.  Your mother, Monty, Raven--they’re all worried sick about you.  They think you’re dead somewhere and they’ll never see you again.  I have to tell them.”  His voice was gentle, coaxing.

 

“They’re better off without me,” she replied bitterly.  “Let them think I’m dead.  Let them move on.  It’s better that way.”

 

“No, it isn’t.”  A hint of steel crept into his voice and that muscle in his jaw started fluttering.  “You know it isn’t.  We need you.  I need you.”

 

“No, you don’t.  You want me to be who I was, and I can’t.  I’m not that girl anymore.  I’m not--I’m not one of you.  I can’t be, not anymore.”

 

“Yes, you are.  You’re one of us, and you always will be,” he insisted.  “This--this isn’t you.”  He reached out and swiped his thumb through the dark makeup underneath her eyes.  “I know who you are, and it’s not this.”  He wiped his hand on the fur and reached for the end of a braid.  His fingers deftly unraveled it and moved to the next, and then the next.  Her tears fell freely now, as he removed her armor piece by piece.  Bellamy used a corner of the fur to clean off the rest of her tear-tracked warpaint, and caught an errant tear with his thumb.  His hands held her face and he tipped her chin up to look at him.  “Come home with me?”

 

Somehow, his questioning tone hurt more than when he asked the first time.  Bellamy-- _Bellamy_ \--didn’t know what her answer would be, even though he knew her better than anyone left on the planet.  

 

Bellamy doubted her.

 

She closed her eyes, because she wasn’t sure she had the strength to answer if she had to look at him.  “Okay,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

 

“Okay?”

 

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed.  “I’ll come home.”

 

He kissed her again and she realized–if Bellamy was with her, she was home.

  



	90. An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immoveable Object

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My experiment with Raven/Wells, just because.

“So what’s your deal?”  Raven asked and draped herself across Clarke’s overstuffed armchair.  She nudged Wells with her toe when he didn’t look up.  “I said, what’s your deal?”

 

“With what?” he asked, keeping his eyes on his laptop resting on the coffee table.

 

“You’re so serious all the time.  Why?”

 

“Not all the time,” he replied, still not looking at her.  

 

She nudged his arm again.  “You should let loose.  Have fun some time.”

 

“I have fun,” he insisted, and flipped open one of his giant law textbooks with a frown.

 

“You sound like Clarke.  Neither of you would have any fun if it wasn’t for me.”

 

“Lucky us.  You going to let me finish this essay?”

 

Raven sighed and tromped off to the kitchen to find Clarke.

 

**

 

Raven sat quietly on a bench facing the river, her mother’s latest text bouncing around her brain.    _Need $$$ send soon luv u._  Four months of radio silence and Raven thought maybe her mother had finally forgotten about her, and then this--yet another plea for money with a half-hearted “love you” tacked on to the end.   _I’m not sending her another penny,_ she thought, even as she calculated how much of her next paycheck she could spare.  She drew her knees up under her chin and a breeze kicked up, bringing the slightly rank smell of the river with it.

 

Footsteps sounded behind her and then paused.  “Raven?”

 

She hastily wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.  “Wells?  What are you doing out here?”

 

“My Contracts class just let out and I’m on my way to my car.”  He moved around the bench and furrowed his brow.  “You okay?”

 

“Yeah.  Fine.”  She hoped that it was dark enough that he wouldn’t see her red nose and puffy eyes, because Raven did not do tears or weakness.  At least not where anyone else could see them.

 

Wells didn’t look like he believed her but he let it drop.  “Your place is on my way back to mine--want a ride?”

 

Raven nodded and stood, because the evening chill was setting in quickly and her thin t-shirt would make the walk home miserable.  She fell into step beside him, grateful that he wasn’t much of a talker.  Wells glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and shrugged out of his jacket.  He placed it over her shoulders before she could protest, and when she did, he simply said “It’s cold out.  You need it,” and that was that.

 

The heavy leather jacket was warm, and even though Raven was only an inch or so shorter than him, the shoulders hung wide and the sleeves swallowed her finger tips.  She’d never considered the way his biceps bulged against the edge of his sleeves, but now it was all she could look at.  Raven smiled her thanks, and the ice that had surrounded her heart four hours ago started to thaw.

 

***

 

“All right nerds, it’s friday and that means neither of you are studying,” Raven announced as she let herself into Clarke and Wells’ apartment.

 

Wells stuck his head out of his bedroom.  “Clarke’s out on a date tonight.”

 

“Bellamy or Lexa?”

 

Wells chuckled.  “Like Bellamy will ever work up the courage to ask her out.  I think this is her second official date with Lexa, though.”

 

“Right.  Well, you feel like getting drunk?”  Raven held up the case of beer she’d brought over and Wells emerged completely from his room.

 

“I could use a break, yeah.  Want to go up to the rooftop?”

 

Part of the reason Raven spent so much time at Clarke’s place was because her own studio apartment was depressing as hell, but also because Clarke and Wells had rooftop access, something she could only dream of one day affording.  “Lead the way,” she said and stepped aside to let him show her up to the roof.

 

Two hours later and Raven was a little bit buzzed and wondering why she’d never noticed how his smile seemed to light up whatever space they were in, and why she’d never thought about how handsome he was when he laughed.  Maybe it was because he didn’t let loose like this very often, or maybe because she’d just never really looked at him before.  She kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye as they stood shoulder to shoulder and looked out over the city.

 

Wells caught her looking at him and grinned.  “What?”

 

Raven turned to rest her hip against the rail.  “Nothing,” she said, maybe a little flirtatiously.

 

The smile slipped from his lips and was replaced with a serious look.  He took a step towards her, and then another, until he was right in front of her.  Raven’s heart beat a wild tattoo against her chest even as she tried to play it cool.  “I’m going to kiss you now,” Wells said in a voice that sent shivers down her spine.  “That okay?”

 

Raven barely managed a nod before he slanted his mouth against hers, soft but demanding at the same time.  His hands cupped her jaw like she was something to be treasured and her heart kept thumping loudly as she met his tongue with her own and curled her hands into the soft cotton of his shirt.

 

Far too soon, he broke the kiss and smiled against her lips.  “See?  I told you I have fun.”

 

Raven threw her head back and laughed before kissing him again.

  



	91. A Difficult Patient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous prompt for sick!Bellamy being a difficult patient for Clarke.

The flu had been tearing through camp indiscriminately for nearly a month, taking down even the healthiest people.  Clarke had spent a week in her cabin, shivering despite the pile of blankets while Raven (herself recently recovered) kept vigil.  Clarke wouldn’t let anyone else in for fear of spreading it, so she held daily conferences with Bellamy through the door.  Every day, he started their conference by telling her to go to bed and that he could handle things and every day Clarke would snap back that she wanted to know what was going on, Bellamy would sigh heavily, and then they would finally get down to business.

She was back in med bay a week later, mixing up a batch of fever tea when Monroe came rushing in.  “Bellamy’s about to pass out and won’t listen to any of us,” she blurted, raindrops glistening in her reddish-brown hair.  

“Shit,” Clarke hissed under her breath.  “Where is he?”

“Back gate.”

Clarke rushed out without grabbing her rain gear, immediately regretting it when she was hit by the icy downpour.  She found Bellamy standing near the gate, slumped over and leaning far too heavily on his rifle.  “You have to come inside,” she called over the din of rain hitting the metal remains of the Ark.

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely.  His skin was unnaturally pale and he seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes.

“No, you’re not.  You’re sick.”  She marched over and placed her hand on his forehead.  Despite the chill weather and pouring rain, his skin was burning.  “Doctor’s orders.  Monroe will finish your shift–you’re coming with me.”

Bellamy looked like he was going to argue, but Clarke grabbed his arm and pulled him after her.  His cabin was on the other side of the camp, and by the time they got there he was weaving unsteadily.  “Find yourself dry clothes,” Clarke ordered and turned to build up the fire.  When she turned around, Bellamy was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his still-tied boots blankly.  Clarke sighed and knelt before him, picking at the knots with her fingernails until they came undone.  

She eased them off his feet and stood to help him out of his jacket.  “I’m fine,” he protested.

Clarke raised an eyebrow.  “You really think so?  You can barely stand, and even though I told you to find yourself dry clothes you’ve done nothing but get the furs on your bed damp.  Arms,” she instructed and Bellamy raised his arms over his head to let her peel his shirt off.  

“I’m fine,” he said for a third time as she dug through his trunk for a dry shirt and pants.  “Just leave me here.  I’ll take a nap and be fine in a few hours.”

Clarke just snorted that time and turned with an armful of clothes.  “Then prove it.  Get dressed.”  She dropped the clothes next to him and turned back to his trunk to find something dry for herself.  She ended up in a shirt she remembered from their dropship days and a pair of pants that she had to roll up a few times at the ankles, but in that time Bellamy had only managed to put on the pants she gave him.  She clucked her tongue and helped him into the thick flannel shirt and pushed him back gently.  “Lay down, okay?”

For once, he listened.  Clarke stuck her head out of his cabin into the rain and looked around until she saw his neighbor Mel return to her front door.  “Mel?  You headed back to the canteen tonight?”  The dark-haired woman nodded.  “Great.  When you go back, can you find someone in med bay and tell them I’ll be here tonight and probably tomorrow?  And have someone bring soup and some fever tea, if they can.  Bellamy’s got it bad.”  

“Sure thing,” Mel agreed, and darted out of the rain.

Bellamy’s fire had finally started putting off significant heat when she returned to his bedside, but he was shivering.  Clarke threw another fur over him and brushed his now-drying hair back from his forehead.  “You should have come and found me sooner,” she scolded softly.  “You’re sick.”

Bellamy grunted and turned his face toward her hand.  “It’s no big deal,” he mumbled.  “Not like you.”

“What do you mean, not like me?  I was an excellent patient.  Just ask Raven.”

“Yeah, but we need you.”

Clarke found herself tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips and stopped.  “What do you mean by that?”

“We need you.  We don’t need just another guard.”

Clarke tried to draw her hand away in shock, but Bellamy had wrapped his fingers around her wrist and was nuzzling her palm.  “We need you,” she whispered, her throat suddenly thick with emotion.  “I need you, okay?”

Bellamy’s eyes were closed and she couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep, but she cupped his cheek in her hand anyway.  “I need you,” she whispered again, and pulled a chair from his desk over to his bedside.  “And I’m not going anywhere.”


	92. Reyes & Griffin: Private Investigators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From lushatrocity's request for Clarke and Raven as PIs that Bellamy hires to check out Lincoln.

  
“Found us a new client,” Raven announced while Clarke ladled coffee grounds into the filter.  “Dude from my gym.  I think he was trying to hit on me but once he found out I’m a PI he changed his mind and decided to hire us instead.”

Clarke snorted derisively.  “Kind of hypocritical for him to hit on other women at the gym and then spy on his wife.”  That was Reyes & Griffin’s bread and butter after all: cheating spouses.  Sometimes they’d pick up a bail jumper or work a burglary case the police were too busy to solve, but mostly they took photos of cheating husbands and wives.  (Fitting, considering they met because they were both with the same man.)

“Oh, he’s single.  He wants us to check out his sister’s boyfriend.”  Raven crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter.

“He hurting her?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.  He just doesn’t trust the guy.  He’ll be here at ten.”

Clarke pressed start on the coffee maker and nodded.  “I’ll handle intake,” she told her partner, and Raven headed into the back room.  

Raven handled the tech for their two man operation, building listening devices and tweaking Clarke’s cameras, while Clarke generally took the photos and talked to incoming clients.  She was better at those sorts of things than Raven, anyway.  (Those sorts of things meaning people, really).

Clarke hardly even looked up when Raven let their new client into her office, but when she did she almost swallowed her tongue.  “Clarke,” she said briskly, and then glared daggers at Raven.   _You could have mentioned the handsomeness,_ she telegraphed.  Raven grinned and waggled her eyebrows as she left.

“Bellamy,” he replied and took a seat across from her desk.  “Raven said you can help me.”

“We can.  You’re worried about your sister’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah.  You’re going to think I’m crazy, but Octavia is all I have, and this guy is…old.”

“If he’s old, maybe he’s the one that needs to watch out for your sister,” Clarke teased gently.

Bellamy ducked his head shyly. “He’s not that old.  My age, maybe a little older.  But I’m thirty, and O’s six years younger than me, so…”

“…so she’s twenty four, not fourteen,” Clarke pointed out.  Talking him out of hiring them probably wasn’t a great move professionally, but Clarke also wasn’t about to get involved in family drama that might get the cops called on them.  And helping a grown man spy on his fully grown sister–even if she was younger than him–didn’t seem like a great plan.  “Raven said you’re not worried that he’s hurting her, right?”

“Right.  He seems decent enough, but I just can’t get over the age difference and feel like…I feel like something’s off.  Or maybe I’m crazy,” he sighed, rumpling his messy brown hair.  “Can’t you just, like, run a background check or something?”

Clarke smiled at him and he smiled back, causing her to lose her train of thought for a second.  “We can offer you a basic package–background check and a week of light surveillance.  If there’s anything that bothers you in that, we can always move forward with more in-depth research.”

“She’ll kill me if she ever finds out.”

“We’re discreet, I promise.  If you want the basic package I can have the results to you in seven days.”

Bellamy nodded, and Clarke pulled out a notepad to take down her subject’s information.

(As Clarke suspected, the boyfriend checked out.  And as Raven suspected, Bellamy called a week later to ask Clarke out.)


	93. Officemates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I watched the Casino Night episode of The Office this morning and couldn't help myself.

If you asked Clarke Griffin, she would tell you that Bellamy Blake is her best friend.

If you asked Bellamy Blake, he would think about it for a long time and then say that Clarke is his best friend, and she’s engaged so anything else he feels for her is irrelevant.

If you asked anyone else, they would tell you that Bellamy Blake has been hopelessly in love with Clarke Griffin for three years.

They met at work, Clarke in Graphic Design and Bellamy in Sales, and even though their projects didn’t overlap much they managed to see each other more than a dozen times a day, not counting their constant gchat conversations.  They ate lunch together, and at 3pm every day Clarke would stop by his desk with a fresh cup of coffee that Bellamy always insisted he didn’t need and then drank anyway.

In their three years as co-workers-slash-best-friends, they had only had one fight.  Clarke had found out that her boyfriend Finn wasn’t exactly as single as he had advertised when they started dating, and even though he insisted  _it’s over with her now, I swear_ , Clarke broke up with him.  Bellamy didn’t want to see his best friend in pain but a tiny spark of hope bloomed in his chest when she told him things were over with Finn.  Bellamy did everything a friend should–he listened, he cheered her up when she needed it, and he let her cry on his shoulder when she needed that instead.  He didn’t want to  be That Guy and try to ask her out when she was still recovering from a breakup, so he kept things strictly platonic.

But then she came back from a long weekend and told him that not only had she taken Finn back but that she’d also agreed to marry him and Bellamy lost it.  They ended up shouting at each other in his office, with Bellamy yelling  _Finn doesn’t deserve you_ and Clarke angrily retorting  _people deserve second chances._   They didn’t speak for three weeks after that–three awful, strained weeks–until Bellamy left a bag of chips on Clarke’s desk with a post-it that just said _I’m sorry_.

It was almost 5pm when Bellamy walked into her office three months before her wedding, looking strangely pale.  “I’m sorry,” he started.  “But I have to tell you something.”  He rounded her desk and balled his hands into fists.  “I quit today.”

Clarke stood up abruptly and gasped.  “What?  Why?”

Bellamy took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “Because I can’t do this anymore.  I know you’re marrying him and I know you’ll hate me after this, and I know I shouldn’t do this because it’s not fair to you, but you have to know.”  He brought his trembling hands up and cupped her cheeks,

Clarke licked her lips and didn’t pull away, her heart pounding.  “Know what?”

“I’m in love with you and I have been for years.  And I’m going to kiss you now,” he announced and carefully–so carefully– fit his mouth to hers. The kiss was soft and sweet and searching, but with a hunger that couldn’t be denied. Before Clarke could fully process what had happened, he was gone.

Three months later, Bellamy was considering if “the woman I love is getting married to someone else today” was a good enough reason to get drunk in the middle of the day when he heard a knock at his door.  Clarke stood on his doorstep in her wedding dress and veil, tears tracking mascara down her cheeks.  “I love you too,” she whispered.

If you asked anyone else, they would have told you Clarke had been in love with Bellamy for just as long.


	94. Quantico (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt "I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth," requested by Marycontrary82 and an anon.

“Come on princess, is that the best you’ve got?”  Bellamy taunted from across the mat.  Clarke scowled and sank into her fighting stance, carefully taking in the way he was resting his weight on his left foot.  He had been favoring his right leg more and more as the evening went on, and she had a dim memory of him wearing a knee brace during their morning training runs.  He had a sadistic habit of making them run before Clarke had a chance to drink her usual three cups of coffee so her mind was usually still a little fuzzy (plus there was the whole being-distracted-by-your-shirtless-training-officer thing working against her) but she was pretty sure he wore it on his right knee.

 _Bad right knee and an old shoulder injury he was bitching about to Kane  Right side too, I think_.  His weaknesses catalogued, Clarke decided on her plan of attack and rushed him, diving low and to his right to tackle him to the mat.  For a brief second victory was hers but he somehow got one arm under him and another around her, and then she was the one pinned down with Bellamy smirking above her.  “Gonna have to do better than that, princess.”

Clarke shoved him off of her with a grunt, because she was sure she had him that time.  At least none of the other trainees were around to bear witness to her shame.  Clarke did not handle failure well and if she flunked out of the FBI Training Academy, not only would the press have a field day ( _Senator Griffin’s Daughter: A Failure Again!_ ) but Clarke would never hear the end of it from her mother’s office.  And if she didn’t pass hand-to-hand combat, she was done.  So here she was, wrestling with a complete jackass long after everyone else had gone.

She had started to suspect Bellamy was being harder on her than anyone else when Fox–tiny little Fox, who cried when they had to watch a video on victims of torture and seemed oddly afraid of her own gun–passed hand-to-hand with flying colors.  Clarke may not have had the height her classmates had, but she was solidly built and had spent months in a gym preparing for this test.  But no matter what she did, no matter which angle she took, Bellamy had a counter move.

Clarke decided to throw out everything she’d learned in training and everything Lincoln, her quiet MMA instructor back home, had taught her.  She assumed her fighting stance and when Bellamy raised his eyebrows in challenge, she bowled right into him and kept running until his back hit the concrete wall with a worryingly loud  _smack_.  She pressed her forearm across his throat–not hard enough to cut off his airway, but hard enough to prove her point–and raised her eyebrow in return.  “Good enough for you?” she spat.

Bellamy’s dark eyes dropped down to focus on her lips and just like that, her annoyance and anger melted away, replaced by a hunger so palpable it was hard to breathe.  The air between them crackled and her heart thundered in her chest.

He brought one hand up to the arm across his throat and abruptly spun them around, trapping her hands above her head.  He looked at her questioningly, and she had barely finished nodding when his lips crashed down on hers.  He released her wrists and she tangled her fingers in his hair, not giving a damn that it was damp with sweat because just then he dragged his lips to her jaw and burned kisses down her throat, his hand holding her steady just below her sports bra.  He returned to her mouth and slid his tongue inside, making her moan and arch against him.  The hand on her ribcage started inching down, skimming over her belly and pausing at the waistband of her yoga pants.  “Okay?” he rasped in her ear, and Clarke nodded eagerly, nipping at his bare shoulder.  Without any more hesitation he shoved his hand down and cupped her mound, one finger teasing her slit while he sucked hard on her pulse point.

Clarke dug her nails into his back so hard she would have been worried about drawing blood had she been able to think of anything that wasn’t the way his chest felt against hers and how desperate she was for him to stop teasing her clit with gentle, feathery strokes.  But then he pushed two fingers inside of her and she stopping thinking at all, her head dropping back against the wall with a strangled moan.  His thumb pressed tightly to her clit, ratcheting her cries higher until he captured them with his lips.  Clarke squeezed her eyes shut as she started to tremble, her whole body shaking in anticipation of her release.  Bellamy shifted his fingers inside of her just slightly and it was enough to send her careening off the edge.  She shuddered and her knees went weak, and she would have slid to the floor if Bellamy didn’t have his hand cupped behind her head, holding her lips to his until she returned to her senses.

A tiny smirk played at the corner of his lips when he stepped away.  “Good enough for you?” he teased.

Clarke looked up at him through her lashes.  “Maybe.”

“Just maybe?”  

She stepped toward him and palmed him through his shorts, feeling how hard he was underneath her fingers.  “We could be done now.  Or you could take me back to your place and fuck me somewhere that doesn’t smell like gym socks.”

Bellamy closed his eyes as if he was in pain.  “You’re going to be the death of me, Griffin.”

Clarke cocked her head to the side, her hand still grasping him.  “Is that a yes?”

Bellamy grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her fiercely.  “It’s a fuck yes.  My car is in the back lot.  I’ll be out once I lock up.”

Clarke sauntered to her work out bag, acutely aware of his eyes on her ass, and ducked out the back exit to find his beat up old Jeep.

Technically he was her boss and technically this could get him fired and her tossed out of the academy, but technically, she didn’t give a damn.


	95. Quantico (II)

Clarke should have guessed that sex with Bellamy would be a competition.  He pushed her hard during training, always convinced she could do better, run farther, fight harder.  In training, that drove her insane even as she worked to show him she could handle whatever he threw at her.  But here, his hand roughly caressing her breast, it was a goddamn gift.

One minute he had her pressed to the wall, kissing down her sternum, and the next she spun them around so he was the one trapped against her body while she nipped at his lower lip.  They fumbled toward his bedroom, a trail of clothes marking their path, and when the backs of her thighs hit his mattress she let him push her down and cover her with his body.

But only for a moment, because then she shifted his weight and twisted until she was hovering over him with a smirk on her face.  Bellamy grinned back and let her savor her victory for once, and after some brief fumbling for a condom she positioned herself above him and sank down slowly, enjoying the way he fit inside of her.  She pinned his wrists near his ears and rolled her hips, slowly at first and then faster and faster, eventually tangling her fingers with his as they reached their peaks within moments of each other.

“Good enough for you?” she mumbled against his sweaty chest.

He chuckled, his hand cupping the back of her head.  “You could say that.”

Clarke sat up and helped him throw away the condom.  “Water?” she asked, since between their training in the gym, their other activities in the gym, and then the sex, she was feeling a little dehydrated.

Bellamy tossed her a clean shirt that she pulled on without a second thought and followed him into the kitchen.  He flipped on a light over the sink and filled a glass of water, which she drank while wandering around his kitchen, taking in who Bellamy Blake was when he wasn’t grousing at new recruits to run faster.  She stopped at the refrigerator and frowned at a photo of him and a pretty brunette in front of the Statue of Liberty.  “Sister,” he explained before she could ask, although their jawline had already indicated to her that they were at the very least related.  “Her name’s Octavia.”

Something about her name and face stirred a memory, and Clarke furrowed her brow.  “She live in New York?”

“Boston, actually.”

“Is she by any chance a cop?”

Bellamy cocked his head.  “She is,” he confirmed a little warily.

“Got it.  I know her boyfriend, so I thought she looked familiar.”

“Octavia doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Clarke giggled.  “You sure about that? Does she do martial arts, by any chance?”

“She does.”

Clarke patted Bellamy’s shoulder in mock sympathy.  “Then unless you think there’s some other female cop in Boston named Octavia who looks just like you, she’s got a boyfriend.  He’s my MMA instructor up there.”

“Then he’s shit at his job,” Bellamy growled.  “You’re sure?”

“I am.  And judging by your reaction, I get why she didn’t tell you.  But for the record, Lincoln is an excellent instructor.  And very handsome.”

Bellamy’s face clouded over and Clarke couldn’t help but rise up on her tiptoes and land a peck on his lips.  “Lincoln’s a good man.  I swear.  Your sister is lucky.”

“She’s lucky I trust you,” he grumbled.

Clarke rolled back down to her heels and smothered a smile.  “You trust me?”

“Don’t get cocky.  You still haven’t passed hand-to-hand.”

She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his chest.  “But you trust me,” she sing-songed.

His arms encircled her and a reluctant smile crossed his face.  “I do.”

Clarke sobered from her sex-high and looked into his eyes, so dark in the dim light they seemed almost black. “How much trouble will we be in if we get caught?”

The smile melted away.  “A lot.  Me, for sure.  You might just get a reprimand.  I’d be reassigned at best, maybe lose my job at the worst.”

“This was a big risk then, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”  Suddenly, the smile was back.  “Totally fucking worth it, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  And since the damage is already done and you don’t have to be back to the barracks until tomorrow at noon, I say we make the most of it.”

Clarke grinned.  “Bring it on.”


	96. Quantico (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an anonymous prompt about Clarke being too short to reach things.

“What the fuck are you doing up there?”

 

Clarke looked over her shoulder from her perch on Bellamy’s counter.  “Looking for coffee.”

 

“And that requires you to kneel on my counter why?”

 

“Because it wasn’t on the lower shelves and I didn’t want to wake you by dragging a chair across your floor.”  She rearranged herself to sit on the counter.  “So, are you going to be a gentleman and show me where the coffee is?”

 

“Can’t.  Don’t have any,” Bellamy said flatly.

 

“What?  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“I don’t drink it,” he replied with a shrug.

 

Clarke kicked her heels against his cabinets.  “But you don’t keep any around?  You know, for the women you bring home to fuck after fingering them in the training gym?”

 

Bellamy rounded the kitchen island and fit himself between her knees.  “I told you, I don’t have any.”  His hands rested lightly on her thighs and she suppressed a little shiver, her memories of the way he touched her last night still incredibly vivid.  “Because I don’t normally help new recruits get off in the training gym and then bring them back to my place to fuck them.”  He leaned into her and all it took was a tip of her chin and they were kissing again.

 

“No?” she asked, her lips brushing against his.

 

“No.  Not usually.  Or ever, actually.  You’re the first.”

 

“Well then, first rule of bringing women back to your place--have coffee.  Or else they’ll die of caffeine withdrawal.”

 

“You drink too much coffee.  It’s bad for you.”

 

“And I repeat--I’ll die without it.  So is there some place nearby?”

 

Bellamy kissed her forehead softly.  “There’s a place around the corner.  I’ll go get you some if you’ll stop with the dramatics, Lorelai Gilmore.”

 

Clarke leaned back to look him in the eye.  “Really?  You’re just going to drop a Gilmore Girls reference and not expect me to demand an explanation?”

 

“No big mystery.  I have a little sister.  And it’s a good show.  So what do you want?”

 

“Black coffee in the biggest size they have.”

 

“Got it.  And--” hesitation crossed his face, along with something like worry.

 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Clarke said.

 

“Good.  I have plans for you,” he said in a mock-stern voice.  

 

Clarke reached up to cradle his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly.  “Can’t wait.”


	97. This was not the plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy birthday fic for Rumaan.

Four days.

That was how long Clarke’s life took to go completely to hell.

Four goddamn days.  Not even an entire week.

Four.  Days.

Because Clarke was not impulsive.  On the contrary, she planned every second of her life and never, ever did anything without making several pro-con lists and mulling it over for at least a week.  But four days in Atlantic City with Bellamy Blake was all it took to completely undo her carefully constructed facade.

 

Everything about the trip started fine–traffic to the airport wasn’t terrible, and she breezed through security without anyone noticing that she’d forgotten to toss her water bottle before getting in line (this was not like her and should have been a sign of things to come, but alas, she didn’t realize it.) She found a seat by herself at the gate and settled back with a book before Bellamy even arrived.  They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement about this trip: no more communication than was absolutely necessary.  She nodded politely to him when he sat down at the gate and that was that.  Maybe it wasn’t the most professional way to handle things but they had to make it through an entire week in Atlantic City without murdering each other and she didn’t see any other options.

They had to sit next to each other on the plane too, but Clarke pulled out her ipad to watch a movie and he dug a book out of his briefcase and they pretended to be strangers, not people with offices in the same hallway for the past three years.

But Clarke’s bag was the absolute last one off the plane, leaving her to stand awkwardly at the carousel while Bellamy grumbled about _princesses who can’t just use a damn carry-on._   But things didn’t fully go to hell until they arrived at their hotel: through an absolutely unbelievable amount of fuck-ups and bad luck, the company had only reserved one hotel room for the two of them and there were several conventions in town so everything else was booked.  And to make matters worse, the hotel room only had one bed.  Clarke gritted her teeth and slapped down the company credit card, resolving to spend every goddamn penny of her per diem on booze that night.

But that was four days ago and now Clarke found herself with a very different problem, because thanks to hotel screw-ups, long hours and even longer happy hours in the hotel bar, and the reckless atmosphere of being in a trashier version of Las Vegas, Clarke had somehow stopped being someone who carefully considered a decision from every angle.

Because now Clarke was lying wide-awake next to a peacefully slumbering Bellamy.

Correction: now she was lying wide awake next to her peacefully slumbering  _husband_.

Apparently wine plus Clarke plus Bellamy plus one hotel room equalled horrible, horrible decision making.  

Things started to really go south the third night of their stay when she impulsively kissed him.  Her reasoning that night was that Bellamy wasn’t nearly as vile as she thought he was and she had always found him handsome against her better judgment.   _There he is, right there next to you in bed, smiling like a doofus,_  her brain told her.   _Those lips?  Those are kissable lips.  You should try it._   So she did, and apparently Bellamy’s brain had the same idea, because the kiss quickly became Bellamy-sliding-his-hands-up-her-nightshirt and Clarke-grasping-him-through-his-boxers and it was only when Bellamy whispered that maybe, just maybe they were rushing things that they returned to their senses.

That would remain the one shining example of their self-restraint in that whole trip, because the next night when Bellamy brought it up over Clarke’s second glass of wine (and his third whiskey) suddenly neither of them could remember why “rushing” things seemed like a bad idea.  

“Fuck it,” Clarke had said.  “I know what I want and what I want is you.  Why did we think we should wait?”  

Bellamy chuckled and shook his head.  

“What?  What’s so funny?”.

“Nothing.  A terrible idea.”

“Apparently, I love terrible ideas.”

Bellamy sized her up and grinned.  “You know what you want and I know what I want, so why not make it official?”

And that was how her former-enemy-turned-maybe-sex-partner proposed to her in an Atlantic City hotel bar.  It was also how she accepted his proposal and was the reason for the ring on her fourth finger that was currently burning into her skin.  She rolled over and Bellamy roused, smiling at her sleepily.  “Having second thoughts?”

Clarke ran her fingers through his hair.  “We got married.  That’s insane, right?  We’re insane.  We hated each other like four days ago.”

“But we don’t hate each other anymore.” Bellamy pointed out.  “And married sex is apparently pretty fucking great.”

Clarke suspected that sex with Bellamy would have been great with or without an official license tying them together in front of god and man, but she smiled anyway.  “How the fuck are we going to explain this at the office?”

Bellamy tucked her into his chest.  “No idea princess.  But we’ll do it together.”


	98. Earth is full of surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for Clarke marrying grounder!Bellamy for a peace treaty.
> 
> (Cross posted as "The Price of Peace" as well.)

Clarke rolled over and stretched her arm out, only to find the furs on Bellamy’s side of the pallet were cold.  She frowned and propped herself up to survey his--their--cabin, but he wasn’t feeding the fire and he wasn’t sitting hunched over the makeshift desk like he did most mornings.  In the two months they had been married she had never woken up in the cabin alone.

It was odd, how easily they slipped into a routine despite being total strangers.  For the first week they came dangerously close to being enemies, especially once she discovered he could speak English and only pretended not to because he was amused by her butchered attempts at Trigedasleng.  But after she grudgingly stitched up his side when he returned from a hunting trip gone awry and he repaid the favor by starting to give her language lessons, they’d settled into something like a partnership.

Only lately, that partnership was leaving her wanting.  The moments when he would smile at her and something sparked in her chest were happening more often, and at night his warmth under the furs caused a different sort of heat to bloom in her belly.  They had started inching closer and closer together each night, using the chill in the air as an excuse, but last night Clarke could have sworn she saw something in his eyes that mirrored her own desire.

She had been hoping to test her theory when they both awoke but with Bellamy gone, that was pointless.  Clarke had to meet with their healer this afternoon but she had a rare morning off, something she hadn’t had since the Ark.  Three months ago she never would have thought she would be living on the ground, married to a near-stranger to create peace between their people, but three months ago she had also never seen a pair of deep brown eyes that were somehow hard and soft all at once.

Clarke stretched like a cat and curled back under the furs, burying her nose in the ones that still carried his scent.  Bellamy smelled like sunlight and pine needles and it only fanned the flames inside of her, so with one last glance at their door Clarke slipped off her deer-hide leggings and ran her fingers through her damp curls, wishing it was his callused fingers instead.  She spread her legs farther apart, the soft fur tickling the backs of her thighs, and sank her teeth into her lower lip.  Clarke tried to conjure the weight of him over her, the feel of his chest pressed against hers.  She eased a finger inside, but it wasn’t enough and the angle was wrong.  She kicked the furs off and rearranged herself with her knees pointed toward the ceiling, teasing her slit again and pressing two fingers inside, curling them against her walls.  Clarke arched her back and moaned, his name slipping from her lips just as the door opened and Bellamy walked in.

They both froze, Clarke in panic and Bellamy with a look of shock on his face.  He slammed the door shut and spun around while she scrambled to cover herself.

After a few moments of deafening silence, Bellamy cleared his throat.  “I will--I will give you some privacy,” he mumbled.  When Clarke didn’t respond he put his hand on the door, spurring her to action.

“Wait,” she called, and he paused again.  He turned slowly and his eyes tracked up her body as if it wasn’t hidden under the covers.

“You do not wish me to leave?” he asked in the oddly formal English of his people.

“I don’t.”

Bellamy turned slowly again and crossed the cabin, his eyes never leaving hers.  He sat down next to her and without ever breaking eye contact took her hand--the hand she had been wishing was his, the hand still covered in her own arousal--and lifted her fingers to his mouth.  He licked them clean and Clarke found it almost impossible to breathe, trapped by his gaze and entranced by the way his tongue laved across her skin.  His eyes fluttered closed and she cupped his cheek with her hand, brushing her thumb across the freckles she’d wanted to sketch for weeks.

Bellamy bent down and she leaned up and their lips met, far more gently than she had thought possible, and when he pressed her back down into the furs she wondered if earth would ever stop surprising her.


	99. Five Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> labonsoirfemme requested a more fics dealing with the age gap between Bellamy and Clarke, and Bellamy's guilt about it.

It was wrong.

So, so wrong.

Clarke was five years younger than him.

Five.  Years.

He remembered when she was born, for chrissakes.  (Okay, he didn’t remember her being born  _specifically_  because he didn’t know the Griffins then, but he remembered being in kindergarten and he remembered Octavia being born, so if he  _had_  known the Griffins he  _would_  have remembered Clarke being born.)

He knew the alphabet before she even drew breath and he was reading before she could walk.

Ergo, these thoughts he was having about Clarke?

Wrong.

Very, very wrong.

He barely even remembered her from before he left for college, but he was pretty sure however she looked when she was 13 (oh god, she was 13 when he left for  _college_ ) it wasn’t anything like this.

Because his hazy recollections of Clarke Griffin definitely did not involve…breasts.  Specifically, breasts that spilled out of a purple flannel shirt, straining against the buttons, making him feel…things.

God, he was a pervert.  

To make matters worse, he could have sworn she was doing this on purpose.  The first time she reached across him and his forearm brushed the underside of said breasts, he jerked his arm away like she was an open flame.  Then she squeezed between him and the counter when there was a perfectly good path behind him, and she definitely didn’t need to do…whatever that was with her ass against his groin.

For the first time in his life, Bellamy was eager to leave his Gram’s house and get back to campus, but Christmas break was neverending this year and Gram wouldn’t be back from Florida for another three weeks and he’d promised not to leave O home alone.  And Clarke seemed to have decided she was living in Octavia’s room this break, so he couldn’t escape her.  

And he hated himself because when it came down to it, he didn’t want to escape her.  He liked talking to her, liked drinking his morning cup of coffee at his Gram’s kitchen table while she munched on cereal, her legs stretched out on the chair next to her.  He liked the way she looked right when she woke up, all rumpled and messy and beautiful.

It was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.   _She’s eighteen_  his brain would hiss, but then she would laugh and he would forget every goddamn objection he had spent so long cataloguing.   _She’s in college, she’s not a kid anymore_ , another part of his brain would point out.  And then one night she mentioned a birthday party her college roommate had thrown her that fall, and his stupid, traitorous brain made a special note of the fact that meant she was now  _nineteen,_ like that made any damn difference.

And now she was standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that left way too little to his imagination and he was weak.  He was weak because the skin of her jaw felt so smooth under his thumb and the curve of her waist fit perfectly into his hand.  “You’re too young,” he whispered helplessly.

“I’m nineteen,” she whispered back, her palm burning into the skin of his back.

“Exactly.  You’re the same age as some of my students.”  His gaze dropped to her lips, full and parted in the dim light of his bedroom.

“But I’m not one of your students.  I’m adult, and I want this,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help himself.

Because it was wrong, but it felt so right.


	100. Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special birthday gift for tryalittlejoytomorrow.

Bellamy knew that at some point, he had hated Clarke Griffin with every bone in his body.  He remembered it vividly— from the moment Captain Kane assigned them to be partners, he loathed every single thing about her.  She was a stuck up princess, a dumb jock, a useless drag on his career…you name it, he’d felt it and probably said it to her.

So yeah, at some point in the last three years he had definitely, positively, hated her.

Only now he couldn’t remember why, or when her stupid blonde hair had become her stupid pretty blond hair, and her dumb face had become her dumb face with exceedingly kissable lips.  All he knew was that somehow, he’d gone from hating Clarke Griffin to…liking her.

Or maybe more, if the way his heart seemed to stop when some dirtbag robbery suspect punched her in the face was any indication.  After that, he actually made a conscious effort to be nice to her, but the damage had been done and Clarke hated him.

So Bellamy spent his days wishing he didn’t want to grab her and kiss her and living for those tiny moments when she didn’t look at him like he was absolute garbage.  Slowly– god, so slowly— she thawed.  She stopped looking at him suspiciously when he brought her coffee and started accepting it with a shy smile.  And one day she elbowed him in the side when he made a stupid joke and he knew that finally, a year after Kane called her name in the briefing room and paired them together, they were friends.

And being friends with Clarke was…good.  Great, actually, except it was also terrible.  Because he wanted something more.  Desperately, in fact, but he’d screwed himself over with those first months of unbridled hostility, so this was the best he would probably ever get.

And then one day he and Clarke were tracking down a guy who had skipped bail on a domestic violence charge and when Bellamy saw the knife, he didn’t hesitate.  He lunged in front of Clarke and the last thing he heard before he passed out was her frantically radioing for help.

The next thing he knew he was floating in a haze, machines beeping loudly in his ears.  Something wet kept dripping on the back of his hand and soft fingers brushed his hair back.  “You gotta wake up, okay?  I promised your sister I would take care of you out there, so if you don’t wake up before she gets here she’s going to kill me.  Wake up, Bellamy.  Please,” Clarke whispered.

He felt her hand curl around his and he was so tired he couldn’t open his eyes, and his throat was so dry he couldn’t speak, but he tightened his fingers around hers in response.

At some point in his life he had hated her, he was sure of it.

But now, everything was different.


End file.
